"Lord Aurelion, Lady Leonora has arrived."
"Very well," came the weary voice of her father from somewhere deep in the house. "I only hope she'll listen to me."
The massive front doors creaked open under their own weight and announced her like a herald of judgment. The old steward was waiting in the hall, as he had been waiting in that same hall for as long as Leonora could remember. "Good evening, Lady Leonora."
"Good evening, Simon," she replied, her voice clipped and calm, though a faint tremor in it gave away the storm underneath.
"This way, my lady. His lordship is waiting for you in his study."
They walked the long corridor together in silence, past portraits of Kaelthorns who had been dead for centuries, until they reached the study door. Leonora's hand hovered over the polished wood for a moment before she knocked firmly.
"You may come in," her father said, quietly but with all the command he had ever had.
"Good evening, Father."
"Good evening, Leonora. How have you been?"
"I've been well. Thank you." Her eyes moved across the room as she spoke, taking in the dust drifting in the lamplight and the fading smell of aged wood and leather. Memories she had thought were long buried began to stir without her permission.
"It's been a while," he said, and his voice was heavy.
"Yes."
He studied her for a long moment with eyes the color of autumn leaves. "Do you know why I called you here tonight?"
"Have you found another husband for me?" she asked, forcing a little humor over the tight coil of anxiety in her chest.
He laughed softly. "I have a few candidates, but no. Not tonight."
"Then what is it?"
"I can feel the weight of my days," he said, and his voice had become fragile, trembling slightly. "The rope is fraying beneath my hands. I wanted to talk to you about our estate, before it's too late."
She held her breath. "And Roland? You know he's your son too."
"Yes. But only you can succeed me. Roland's mother was a commoner, and that was my mistake. It was a mistake that cost your mother dearly."
Leonora's throat tightened. "It isn't his fault, Father."
"I know," Aurelion said quietly. "But I can hardly bear to look at his face. It reminds me of everything I despise — of the mistakes I can't forgive." He was silent for a moment, and then he looked at her again. "But you can't outrun your mistakes, Leonora," he said gently. "Each of us carries our own."
Then he began to cough, violently, doubling over and clutching his side. She was across the room before she knew she had moved. "Father!"
"I'm fine," he gasped, waving her off. "It's just the medication. It catches me unaware sometimes. Sit. Breathe."
Leonora let out a slow breath, though the tension in her chest was stretched like steel cables close to breaking. Her father reached up with a trembling hand and ran it through her hair, the way he had when she was very small. "Look at you," he whispered. "All grown up. I remember you playing outside, and your mother laughing, and all our happy days. They were fleeting, but they were alive."
Her composure cracked, just a fraction. "Let's get you to bed, Father."
She and Simon helped him to his room. As she drew the blanket over him, he caught her hand with surprising strength. "Thank you, my dear," he murmured. "I wanted to see you one last time."
Afterward, Simon made her tea in the small kitchen where he had once made her warm milk on stormy nights, and they sat together at the scrubbed wooden table without speaking for a while. "He dreams of playing with your children," the old steward said at last, very quietly.
"I know. He wants grandchildren. He's old, and he's alone." Leonora turned the cup slowly in her hands. "But marriage is not something I can do."
"You know, Lady Leonora, my wife couldn't stand me when we first met," Simon said, and a smile creased his face. "But with time and patience and a little understanding, we built a life together. We celebrate forty-six years this year. Life surprises us when we least expect it."
Leonora's lips pressed together as she drank, savoring the warmth of the tea, but the ache in her chest would not soften. "Thank you for the tea, Simon."
"You're welcome, my lady."
Outside, the night pressed in like a living thing, cold and expectant. Anna was waiting by the car. "How did it go, my lady?" she asked, and her voice trembled slightly.
"I think my father is dying," Leonora admitted softly, and her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"Oh. I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry, Anna. Take the night off. I need some air."
"Yes, my lady."
Marta's was exactly as she had left it — thick smoke, the tang of spilled ale, and rowdy voices bouncing off the walls like distant cannon fire. Marta spotted her the moment she came through the door and grinned. "Look who's here. Leonora! I thought I'd never see you again. What brings you back?"
"It's good to see you, Marta. Whiskey, please."
"Mysterious as always," the bartender said with a soft smile as she poured. "And I hear you had a run-in with our local drunk."
"Nothing escapes this place, does it?"
"People talk, and where do they gather to do it? At Marta's, of course." She slid the glass across the bar. "That one's on the house. And if you bump into Youri again, cut him a little slack. He just got back from a mission. They say he obliterated an entire solar system this time. God knows what's going on in that head of his."
Leonora's eyes narrowed, and a frown formed on her face despite herself. She had been there. She had heard every word he said before he pulled the trigger. "I saw him," she said. "Strange that he hasn't been here all evening."
She had barely finished the sentence when a commotion erupted outside — shouting and crashing, and the unmistakable smell of alcohol and bloodlust drifting in through the door.
"Look!" someone shouted from the window. "It's Youri. He's in a fight again!"
By the time Leonora reached the street, Youri was already on the ground. He had stumbled into a broad-shouldered soldier on his way to the pub, mumbling, "Sorry, brother, I didn't see you there," and the soldier had decided that was not good enough. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he roared, and his fist smashed into Youri's face. "Idiot! Look at my uniform — who's paying for this?"
"Back off." Leonora's voice cut through the crowd like a blade. "Who the hell—"
"Holy shit," someone in the crowd whispered. "That's General Leonora Kaelthorn."
"The Gray Phantom?"
Leonora did not even look at them. She looked only at the soldier. "You there. Can't you see this man is drunk?"
"Yes, but—"
"But what? You just assaulted a high-ranking officer. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The soldier's face went white. "I'm sorry, General!"
Her eyes blazed. She stepped past him, seized Youri by the collar with a strength that made the onlookers flinch, and hauled him to his feet. "Get out of here," she told the soldier, without turning her head, "before I change my mind."
She dragged Youri inside Marta's and let the doors slam behind them, muffling the chaos of the street. Her chest heaved with anger and relief mixing into something dangerous. Marta took one look at the two of them and smirked as she wiped down the bar. "General, it's closing time. He's all yours now."
Leonora's gaze lingered on Youri, slumped against the bar with blood on his lip and that same calm, careless face. Her jaw tightened. She did not trust that calm, and she did not forgive the recklessness that followed him everywhere like a shadow. And yet some part of her heart, hidden even from herself, would not let her leave him here like this.
Her fingers flexed into fists at her sides. "Let's get this over with," she muttered.