The hearth in the Marcellan study crackled softly, casting flickering shadows against the emerald-and-onyx decor. Lady Celeste Marcellus sat at her desk, the carved oak surface immaculate save for the single wax-sealed letter lying before her. The raven crest of House Kyrran glared up at her, its black wings stark against red wax.
Ardella Vaelcroft stood near the door, her silvery hair and angular features making her a striking figure in the dim light. Her amber eyes were fixed on Celeste, watchful as ever. Across the room, Alessia Marcellus reclined on a chaise, the faint rustle of her emerald gown the only sound as she adjusted her posture.
The letter’s tone was sharp and efficient, lacking even the pretense of pleasantries:
Lady Marcellus,
Your trade routes have been compromised by the Cult of the Eclipse. A shipment bearing their taint has entered your villa, likely concealed among your recent acquisitions. The Cult’s methods are insidious, their attack is imminent.
Celeste finished reading, her expression impassive as she laid the letter flat on the desk. For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling fire.
Alessia leaned forward, her tone biting. “How noble of them to think of Mar’Vareen’s stability. And here I thought House Kyrran thrived on chaos.”
“They do,” Celeste said, her voice cool. “Which is why this letter reeks of manipulation. They never act without motive.”
Ardella stepped forward, her robes trailing faintly. “It’s likely the Cult’s activities have begun interfering with Kyrran’s own interests. Their network relies on the city’s trade just as much as ours. If the Cult is embedding dark magic into shipments, the entire system could collapse.”
Alessia crossed her arms, her sharp features betraying a mix of disdain and curiosity. “So they’re warning us because they can’t afford for Mar’Vareen to fall apart. How thoughtful. Of course, they’ll expect something in return.”
Celeste drummed her fingers lightly against the desk, her expression as serene as a frozen lake—but Alessia recognized the storm brewing beneath. She rose from the chair, pacing slowly, her emerald gown whispering against the polished floor.
“Kyrran is not so simple,” Celeste said, her voice soft yet cutting. “If this were merely an attempt to monetize their intelligence network or extort us, they wouldn’t have bothered with a warning. They could’ve pressed us after the attack and devoured us whole. Instead…” She gestured to the letter, its raven crest glinting ominously. “They’ve revealed their hand. They want us to know they know. Which means they’ve seen something—or someone—they want.”
Alessia’s sharp intake of breath broke the tense silence. Her wide green eyes flicked to Celeste, then to Ardella. “Charles,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “It has to be Charles. The ceremony… whatever happened to the moon. He’s drawn their attention.”
Celeste stopped pacing and turned sharply to her daughter. “No,” she said firmly, though a flicker of something—uncertainty?—crossed her gaze. “It’s not that simple either. You cannot trade young, headstrong teenagers like fine silk, Alessia.”
Alessia’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze dropping momentarily in frustration. “Then what do they want?” she asked, her tone less assured now.
Celeste didn’t answer immediately. Her sharp green eyes shifted to Ardella, who stood stiffly near the door. The head mage’s angular face remained impassive, but her amber eyes met Celeste’s, a silent understanding passing between them like a drawn blade glinting in the firelight.
Before Alessia could press further, Celeste turned away, her voice growing brisk. “That’s a question we don’t have time to answer tonight.”
Ardella stepped forward, her robes trailing faintly behind her. “Our defenses are critically understaffed. With Viscount Adrian away and most of the house mages accompanying him, the villa’s wards are maintained by myself and a handful of apprentices. If the Cult intends to strike, we won’t be able to hold them off alone.”
Celeste nodded, her expression grim. “Which is why I want a full inspection of our wards and defenses tonight. Every room, every corridor, every entrance. Leave nothing to chance. We need to track down the tainted shipment.”
Ardella inclined her head. “I’ll see to it personally.”
---
The carriage rolled steadily along the winding coastal road, the rhythmic clatter of wheels over cobblestones a constant undertone to the sea breeze filtering through the half-drawn curtains. The world outside blurred in shades of deep blue and green—waves crashing against jagged cliffs and the dense forests that marked the borderlands of Durran.
Inside, the air was heavy with unspoken thoughts. Celeste Marcellus sat opposite her daughter, her elegant features illuminated by the dappled sunlight streaming through the carriage windows. Alessia sat upright, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her usual poise tempered by a rare nervousness. Despite her mother’s imposing calm, the purpose of this journey gnawed at her.
It was Alessia who broke the silence first, her voice careful but curious. “You’ve never spoken much about your life in Durran, Mother. Even as a child, whenever I asked, you would always… redirect.”
Celeste’s lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “There wasn’t much to say,” she replied smoothly. “My upbringing wasn’t as... refined as yours. The Durran family is practical, not indulgent.”
Alessia arched an eyebrow, her sharp green eyes catching her mother’s. “You say that as though practicality is something to be ashamed of.”
“Not ashamed,” Celeste said, her voice softening slightly. She turned her gaze out the window, as though searching the distant horizon for something. “But it is… a different world. Durran is not Mar’Vareen. There are no silken bazaars, no grand salons where wit and charm win the day. Durran is steel and stone, ships and swords. Life there doesn’t lend itself to nostalgia.”
Alessia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Yet you don’t speak ill of it either. What was it like?”
Celeste hesitated, her expression growing distant. For a moment, the poised matriarch seemed less like the calculating Lady Marcellus and more like someone caught in the pull of long-buried memories.
“It was cold,” she said finally, her tone measured. “Even in summer, the winds from the cliffs carried the chill of the sea. I spent much of my childhood in the shipyards, watching the great hulls take shape under my father’s direction. House Durran was renowned for its shipbuilding, you know. No vessel left those yards untested, and no worker dared present anything less than perfection.”
Alessia leaned forward slightly, her green eyes alight with interest. “And you? Were you at the heart of it, overseeing the work?”
Celeste gave a small, wry laugh, shaking her head. “Hardly. My father was a man of tradition. Girls didn’t belong in the shipyards, or so he believed. My brothers took to the craft, while I was left to learn the finer points of accounting and negotiation.”
Alessia smirked. “That sounds… familiar.”
Celeste’s gaze flicked to her daughter, a faint spark of amusement in her otherwise cool expression. “Indeed. I suppose I was preparing for a role I didn’t yet understand—one that eventually brought me to Mar’Vareen and to your father.”
Alessia frowned, sensing an undercurrent in her mother’s words. “But you left all of that behind. Durran, the shipyards, your family. Do you regret it?”
The question lingered in the air, the sound of the wheels filling the silence as Celeste considered her reply. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but unwavering. “Regret is a luxury I cannot afford, Alessia. I made choices that ensured the future of this family—your future, your brothers’, Lyra’s, and even Felix’s. What I left behind was simply the price of that future.”
Alessia studied her mother’s face, searching for cracks in the composed exterior. “And now? Do you think Durran will welcome us as warmly as you make it sound?”
Celeste’s expression hardened, and she straightened in her seat. “Durran does not welcome; it evaluates. Its people measure worth in contributions, not sentiment. Our visit isn’t about rekindling bonds—it’s about ensuring that House Marcellus remains strong. We must show them we are not mere merchants but an indispensable ally.”
Alessia sat back, her lips tightening. “So it’s business as usual, then.”
Celeste gave her daughter a knowing look. “Everything, Alessia, is business.”
---
The gates of Durran Keep opened with a slow groan, revealing a sprawling estate perched against the jagged cliffs overlooking the sea. The sight of the imposing stone towers, darkened by years of salt-laden winds, was at once familiar and alien to Celeste. It had been decades since she last crossed these gates as a daughter of Durran. Now, she entered as Lady Marcellus, a wife and mother of a noble house that was both ally and rival to her kin.
The carriage rolled to a stop in the cobblestone courtyard. As Celeste stepped down, a wave of emotions caught her off guard. The sharp scent of the sea, the chill of the coastal breeze, the faint clamor of shipwrights working in the distance—it was all so achingly familiar. Alessia followed close behind, her poised expression betraying the faintest curiosity as she took in her surroundings.
“Lady Marcellus,” a voice called warmly, and Celeste turned to see an older maid hurrying toward her, the woman’s face breaking into a wide smile. “Welcome home.”
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Home. The word lingered uncomfortably in Celeste’s mind as the maid reached out to take her hands. Around her, other servants emerged from the keep, their greetings genuine and eager. These were faces she hadn’t seen in years, yet they greeted her not as a rival noble but as the daughter of the house who had once graced these halls.
“Thank you, Greya,” Celeste replied, her voice softer than intended. The warmth of the welcome made it difficult to maintain her usual icy composure.
As they stepped inside, the keep’s familiar austerity enveloped them. The stone walls, hung with banners bearing the sigil of House Durran—a ship’s wheel encircled by waves—seemed to loom taller than Celeste remembered. Despite its grandeur, the space felt heavier, more somber.
“Lady Celeste Marcellus,” a deep voice echoed from the far end of the hall.
Celeste turned to see a broad-shouldered man descending the stairs. His dark hair was streaked with gray, his face lined with age but still sharp, and his gait carried the weight of authority. Caedric Durran, her older brother, now head of the house.
“Brother,” Celeste greeted, inclining her head. Her tone was neutral, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.
“Welcome back,” Caedric said, his voice steady but lacking warmth. “You’ve chosen an interesting time for a visit.”
The siblings approached each other cautiously, their postures rigid as if performing for an unseen audience. Alessia observed the exchange keenly, noting how the atmosphere shifted from welcoming to brittle.
“I wasn’t aware that time would be a factor,” Celeste replied smoothly. “Mar’Vareen is hardly known for its foresight into Durran’s affairs.”
A faint smirk tugged at Caedric’s lips. “That much is clear.” He paused, glancing at Alessia. “And you must be my niece. Alessia, isn’t it?”
Alessia dipped her head, her voice honeyed but sharp. “It’s an honor to meet you, Uncle.”
Caedric’s gaze lingered a moment before returning to Celeste. “I imagine you’ll want to settle in, but first, there’s something you should know. Father is unwell. Very unwell.”
The words struck Celeste like a physical blow, though her expression barely faltered. “How bad?” she asked, her voice taut.
Caedric gestured for her to follow. “See for yourself.”
---
The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the harsh sunlight. A faint tang of medicinal herbs hung in the air. On the great canopy bed lay Lord Durran, his once-commanding presence diminished by age and illness. His breathing was shallow, his eyes closed.
Celeste stood at the bedside, her gloved hand hovering just above the bedpost. Seeing her father so frail was jarring. He had always been a pillar of strength, a man who commanded loyalty with a glance.
“Age spares no one,” Caedric said quietly, standing beside her. His voice lacked its usual edge. “The healers are doing what they can, but even they admit it’s only a matter of time.”
Celeste nodded, her throat tightening. “He built this house with his own hands. It’s hard to imagine it without him.”
Caedric sighed, folding his arms. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To remind us that Marcellus stands ready to ‘support’ us when the time comes.”
Celeste’s head snapped toward him, her green eyes narrowing. “Don’t,” she warned. “Not here. Not now.”
Caedric’s lips tightened, and for a moment, the tension between them ebbed. They were not rivals or leaders of noble houses, but siblings standing vigil over a fading parent.
“You’ve changed,” Caedric said after a long silence. “The Celeste I remember would’ve stormed in here demanding answers, not… this.”
Celeste glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “And you’ve changed as well. The Caedric I remember wouldn’t have accepted the mantle of leadership so easily.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Not much choice in the matter when our father is bedridden.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Celeste looked back at their father, her voice softer. “I didn’t come here to undermine you, Caedric. Whatever you may think, I still care about this family.”
“And yet you left,” Caedric said, his tone free of malice but weighted with weariness. “And now you return at the moment we’re weakest. Tell me, Celeste, are you here as a daughter of Durran or as Lady Marcellus?”
Celeste held his gaze, her green eyes unwavering. “Does it matter? We both have our roles to play, Caedric. You as the head of this house, and me as the one who left to forge alliances where you couldn’t.”
Caedric’s expression hardened, but it was the sort of resistance that signaled old wounds rather than fresh grievances. “You always played the good girl, the golden child,” he said, his voice softening despite himself. “Everything came so easily to you. Father’s approval, Mother’s pride. You stepped into their expectations like you were born to wear them.”
Celeste’s lips curved into a tight, mirthless smile. “You think it was easy?” Her voice dropped, colder now. “Playing that part wasn’t a privilege, Caedric. It was a necessity. Unlike you, I didn’t have the birthright. I couldn’t coast on the promise of inheriting the family’s legacy. My role was to be perfect. To marry strategically, to behave impeccably, to secure alliances for a family that wouldn’t even let me near the shipyards. I was a pawn—one expected to smile while being moved across the board.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and sharp as the wind that battered the cliffs outside. Caedric looked away, his jaw tight. For all his grievances with his sister, he had never stopped to consider what it might have been like for her.
“Was it worth it?” he asked finally, his voice quieter.
Celeste exhaled slowly, her poise regaining its strength. “Was it worth it for you? Taking the reins of a house that would have crumbled without you?”
He didn’t answer, but the slight downturn of his mouth spoke volumes. They were both bound by the roles thrust upon them, two sides of the same unyielding coin.
After a moment, Caedric straightened, his expression shifting to something more neutral. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s retire to the reading room. It seems we both have too much history to discuss here.”
Celeste nodded, following him out of their father’s chamber. Behind them, the sound of Lord Durran’s labored breathing filled the silence like a reminder of time slipping away.
---
The reading room was steeped in a quiet tension that pressed against the crackle of the hearth. Caedric sat across from Celeste, his expression unreadable, his broad shoulders squared as though bracing for a tempest. Between them, a small silver tray held untouched glasses of dark amber liquor, their reflections winking faintly in the firelight.
Celeste placed the sealed letter from House Kyrran on the table between them. The raven crest in red wax glinted ominously. Caedric’s gaze lingered on it as though it might sprout talons and lash out.
“This arrived two nights ago,” Celeste began, her tone measured. “House Kyrran warns of an imminent attack on our estate by the Cult of the Eclipse. Their intelligence is rarely wrong, and if we ignore this, we may lose not just property but lives.”
Caedric leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening. “Kyrran warning you of danger. That alone reeks of ulterior motives. What does their generosity cost you?”
“Nothing yet,” Celeste replied, her lips a thin line. “But that isn’t the point. The Cult is growing bolder. They’ve infiltrated Mar’Vareen’s trade routes, and this attack is meant to destabilize us. If they succeed, the rest of the Free Cities won’t be far behind. You’ve heard the stories, Caedric. Entire villages gone. Ships lost at sea under unnatural storms.”
“True,” he admitted, his brow furrowing. “But the Cult is like a shadow. They strike and vanish. If Durran intervenes, we risk making them our enemy—and one we cannot fight with swords or warships alone. What benefit do we gain by inviting that trouble to our shores?”
Celeste’s gaze hardened. “The benefit of ensuring our families survive the coming storm.” She let the words hang, the weight of her conviction pressing down on the room. “I’m not asking for charity, Caedric. I’m offering a partnership. Reinforce Marcellus with troops now, and in return, I’ll commit to purchasing four of Durran’s finest warships for our fleet.”
Caedric’s eyes narrowed. “Four warships? That’s no small promise, Celeste. Mar’Vareen is wealthy, but even you must have limits.”
“We’ll make it work,” Celeste said, her tone brooking no argument. “Our fleet is modest, built for trade, not war. If the Cult continues unchecked, Mar’Vareen’s boundaries will become prisons, not protections. We need to build strength for the future—strength to defend our city, our people, and Charles.”
Caedric’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his glass forgotten on the table. “This isn’t about the city, is it?” he asked, his voice low and probing. “It’s about Charles.”
Celeste froze for the briefest moment, her carefully cultivated composure faltering. She recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. Caedric’s sharp eyes caught the hesitation, and he pressed further.
“They’re saying your boy is destined for something greater,” he continued. “Chosen by the Celestial Court, touched by the stars. Is he really as special as they claim? Or is this just another Marcellus gamble—throwing everything behind an untested child with a bright smile and no battle scars?”
Celeste set her glass down on the tray with a soft clink. “You’re my brother, Caedric,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You know I can’t answer that question. I have a role to play, just as you do.” She met his gaze evenly, her green eyes shimmering with an intensity that made him pause. “But as your sister, I’ll tell you this: this isn’t just about loyalty or family pride. This is an investment you can’t afford to pass up.”
Caedric leaned back in his chair, studying her with a mix of suspicion and reluctant respect. He recognized the steel beneath her words—the same unyielding determination that had always set her apart. “You’ve never been one to place bets lightly,” he admitted, his tone softening. “If you’re this certain, then Charles must be something extraordinary.”
Celeste inclined her head slightly, a faint acknowledgment. “He is. But extraordinary doesn’t mean invincible. If the Cult succeeds in destabilizing us now, whatever potential he has could be lost forever. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
The firelight flickered between them, casting long shadows against the walls. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of Celeste’s words settling heavily in the air.
Finally, Caedric exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You make this hard to argue with.” He straightened in his chair, his tone shifting to something more decisive. “I’ll send an elite team of mages—our best. They’ll reinforce your villa’s defenses and deal with the Cult if it comes to that. But Celeste—” He fixed her with a piercing gaze. “If this backfires, it won’t just be your family that suffers. The Durran name will be tied to whatever fallout comes next.”
“I understand,” Celeste said, her voice steady and resolute. “And I won’t forget this.”
Caedric rose from his seat, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow across the room. “I’ll have the arrangements made before dawn,” he said, his tone brisk. But as he reached the door, he paused, glancing back at her. “You’ve changed, Celeste. The girl who left Durran would never have taken a gamble like this.”
Celetete smiled back and said, “I’ve never changed. I’m still following the only path available to me.”
---
Today was my first time visiting House Durran, my mother’s childhood home. I had always imagined it as a place of cold stone and colder people—stoic, rigid, and distant. And while the walls of Durran Keep are certainly imposing, and the sea wind bites hard, there was life here too. It was in the warmth of the servants who greeted us, in the worn but polished wood of the long tables, and in the steady resolve of my uncle Caedric, who stands like a mast in a storm.
But what struck me most was how small I felt. I had thought myself clever, poised—ready to match wits with these people who shaped my mother. But in that great hall, with its banners hanging heavy with history, I realized how much of a child I still am. My mother and uncle spoke in ways I couldn’t fully understand, their words laced with meanings that danced just beyond my grasp. It was like watching a game played on a board I couldn’t see.
And yet, there was something comforting in it too. To see my mother not just as Lady Marcellus but as Celeste, sister to Caedric, daughter of this house. For all her strength and poise, I glimpsed a part of her that was human—flawed and real. It made me wonder if, someday, I’ll stand as she does, commanding respect and carrying burdens I can’t yet imagine. For now, I remain a child, still learning what it means to grow.