Two hundred years ago the mage purges swept across the country. The elderly to the infantile were exterminated with little to no remorse by the monarchy, who feared what they themselves didn't possess; magic. Entire families were wiped out during the night as the innocent were burned, and butchered by the King's Guard. At the time, magic was mostly used for simple tasks, practices that eased the burdens of daily life. A farmer’s wife with a gift for charming might bewitch a spinning wheel to turn wool into yarn, while another might use his innate abilities to touch and shape molten metals with his bare hands. Those bound to magic were not warriors, they were not threats, they were his people, but it mattered little in the end.

The King's Guard was relentless, but there were still those who risked their lives to send their Magebound away, and many made it to the Emerald Sea, escaping to Etheroz. Time moved forward, and few Magebound bloodlines remained after the purges. Those who had aided the King in the slaughter were given immunity, some were even granted titles for their betrayal. Magebindings became strictly monitored, discouraged, and dangerous.

What Astalia didn’t anticipate were the Magebound returning fifty years ago. Their descendants came with a force so strong in number, as well as in power, that the Magebound armies of the Empire swept across the small country within a fortnight with little resistance. Astalia was decimated. The royal family was executed, and most members of the court followed shortly after. Emperor Julius Cassemir replaced them with newly appointed lords and ladies, the men and women who had sworn fealty to the Empire if their ancestral homes were returned. Astalia became a duchy under my Grandfather, Alaric LeMont. Unlike the new nobility, my house originated in the northern mountains of Etheroz. The reward for his loyalty and service to the empire was banishment.

I never met Alaric LeMont, but what little I know of him is through his choices. He chose to live in a country estate instead of in the Royal Palace, which was his by right. Judging by its size and elegance, Hillcrest Manor still belonged to the royal family, but any traces of their family crest are long gone.

When I was little I used to have nightmares of its former occupants. A family, likely beheaded in the ballroom, or maybe in the entryway when the armies marched up the coast. There was a dark stain on the parlor floor. I would imagine pools of blood bubbling up, forming the body of the little girl that they might have had, my nightmares dictating that she would have been my age as she bled out.

I’ve almost always been plagued by nightmares and terrors. There were many nights were I woke up screaming, waking the whole manor in the process. My subconcious conjured images of violence so vivid that I would wake with the taste of iron on my tongue. Ironic that for all my familiarity, the Bloodbinding never manifested in me. Regardless of my shortcomings and peculiarities, I did have a satisfying childhood. I had friends among the staff, who humored the impulses of a lonely child. Occassionally, they even brought their own sons and daughters to play when the days were warm.

As I grew older, my father, in his absence, would pay for tutors and instructors to come to Hillcrest. Over the years I’d learned to play the harpsichord quite well, and have some talent working with watercolors. Embroidery and needlework were lost on me, but I make up for it in dance. I was taught three different styles of waltz, and have learned most Astalian folk dances, much to the chagrin of my dance instructor.

As I grew into my later teens, my father placed emphasis on politics and history over learning how to run a household. Topics to impress his guests such as geography and arithmetic, as opposed to planning dinners or balls for my future house. Once I outgrew my governess and reached marriageable age, I was given a proper lady’s maid.

At our introduction I looked the girl up and down, taking in the nervous fidget that she was actively trying to suppress in her hands. She was petite, with blonde hair carefully pulled away from her face. Her eyes were bright blue like cornflower, and her cheeks had a light dusting of freckles that continued like a bridge across her nose. She was only a few years younger than myself.

Her expression grew alarmed, and I realized I’d been quietly staring. I looked away quickly, my red rimmed pupils unsettled. “Forgive me,” I said quietly, shyly. “It’s not often new faces enter this home, as you can tell, I’m not accustomed to it.” I laughed a bit nervously. Introductions with anyone other than my father’s business associates were few and far between. “What's your name?”

She seemed unsure but replied, “You can call me Alexia, Lady LeMont.” She curtsied a bit shakily, lifting the corners of her dress.

I scrunched my nose in distaste. “Lady LeMont was my mother the Duchess, Daelyn will do.”

Alexia's hands displayed her anxiety as they gripped the front of her skirts, wrinkling the fabric in the process. “Oh—that is all too familiar for me. With respect, I surely would prefer to speak to you with respect, Lady LeMont.”

My mouth turned down in a small frown. “I’m sorry Alexia, for upsetting you, but 'my lady' is too formal...” I swallowed dryly, it’d been years since Lady LeMont had walked these halls. “What about miss? That would sound better, don't you think?” Alexia nodded slowly, not quite convinced, but I was desperate to change the topic to safer ground. “Have you been a lady’s maid before Alexia?”

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“No miss, you are my first employer, but I’ll be a good maid I swear it! My mother taught me everything I know, and she’s been a lady’s maid to several houses.” Alexia raised her eyes confidently. It was an immediate change from the shy and anxious girl who seemed afraid to say anything at all moments ago.

I smiled warmly, “I think you’ll come to tolerate me.” I concluded, throwing my arms around her. And from that moment on, she did.

❧

The sun shone brightly through the trees above us, scattering upon the blanket we'd laid out in the morning. The peaceful babble of the creek blended beautifully with the breeze. I laid on my back to look up into the tree branches, their spring buds in full bloom as they waved in the sky. Alexia sat diligently with her needlework at the other end of the blanket, embroidering violets, her favorite flower, into the fabric. They stood for modesty and innocence, so I didn't quite understand the appeal of such a flower. If one desired a shade of purple, why not choose lilacs? They were just as pretty, and symbolized first love.

Love. The thought of the word soured my thoughts. It’d been four years since Alexia came to the manor. A few more than that since I’d reached marriageable age, and yet no suitors ever sought me.

I reached into the basket that our cook had packed this morning to pop a grape into my mouth. “When do you think you’ll be done with that piece?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, having had years to grow more familiar with me. “I told you yesterday.”

Rolling onto my stomach, I craned my neck to look at the hoop, every stitch was so carefully placed and neatly organized, their lengths perfectly even. My own needlework relied on the viewer remaining at a distance to appear of average skill. “And again you have created a masterpiece that has outshone anything I am capable of producing.”

Alexia lowered the hoop to look at me critically. “Perhaps yours would look the same if you ever decided to practice once in a blue moon.”

I groaned. Alexia didn't like to accept compliments, so instead she'd look for ways to encourage my own improvement. “What’s there to practice? The needle goes in one side and out the other a thousand times. It’s monotonous and dull.” She raised her brow at me and I quickly added, “Yours is lovely and delicate. Don't look at me like I just insulted you. The work itself is tedious. I don’t know how you can stand to do it, and enjoy it.”

“I suppose it gives me something to do while you’re running around like a heathen.” Alexia laughed as she turned her attention back to the hoop, turning it this way and that in close inspection of the stitches.

“I do not run around like a heathen.” I spoke between bites, grabbing another grape and stuffing it unceremoniously into my mouth.

Satisfied, Alexia set down her work and reached into the basket, retrieving a block of cheese and a small knife to cut it. “Running around the woods, climbing trees is not ladylike behavior, and you nearly broke an arm when that limb cracked.”

I had miscalculated the strength of the branch. “It’s not like I fell...” I defended weakly. And thank the old gods that I didn’t break anything, Essencebound mages were rare on this side of the sea. I’d be wearing a splint for months.

Alexia interrupted my thoughts. “Instead of traipsing through the forest, you could be trying to attend more balls this season. Maybe find an appropriate match? I saw your invitation to the Rensfield’s ball tonight.”

I released an overly dramatic sigh. “Every season is the same. No one is interested in me Alexia. You opened my invitation?” And no man is brave enough to approach my father for that matter, I thought glumly. I wasn’t even brave enough to approach my father about it.

“Someone had to, and every season it’s the same story.” Alexia ticked off her fingers for emphasis. “I spend hours helping you dress, doing your hair, your makeup, and you take all those hours of work and then just brood in the corner!” She huffed angrily, jabbing a finger in my direction. “And don't you dare try to argue it, I've spoken to multiple witnesses. Servants talk.”

“There’s no one interesting in all of Astalia at those parties.” I complained with a lie and a diversion. “Men are dull anyways. They don’t want wives, they want status and something to rub up on in the night.”

“Miss LeMont!” Alexia exclaimed, her cheeks reddening at the thought.

“Besides,” I continued. “Men might not mind an educated woman, but they don’t like a smart woman. They’re easily intimidated by their knowledge being tested.” And, thanks to the Duke, my education could easily rival that of the high-born men around me.

Alexia sighed again before thinly slicing another piece of cheese and biting into it thoughtfully. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out somehow. You clearly have a creative mind. Someone out there will appreciate it.”

If they could get over their fears, perhaps. We'd argued about the curse of my reputation before. No matter how obvious it was that I was not a Magebound myself, few outside of our staff dared come near me. House LeMont was dangerous. If a Bloodbinder bound you, you'd never even know it. Astalians feared my family’s presence more than most, just as the Emperor had.

Alexia continued, interrupting my spiraling thoughts, “You’re never going to find someone to appreciate it if you don’t attend at all.”

She was partially right. It wasn't like a local lord was going to show up at my doorstep to begin courting me. If there were any interested suitors out there, they would have done that years ago and they hadn’t. “If this is your way of asking me to sit in front of my vanity for hours while you fuss at my hair, there are easier ways to ask.”

“I may have received a new catalogue of styles that they’re currently wearing in Ribnica...” She confessed with a smile. I couldn't hide my laugh. Alexia was able to replicate most hairstyles that circulated at court after just one look, and per the catalogues, was also eager to see what fashions they were wearing in far away places so she could bring them to Covosna.

“I reserve the right to limit your practice to two hours. My legs fell asleep the last time I suffered through that catalogue you got from Tarathe.”

She waved off my concerns, pulling the basket out of reach as she stood. “You worry too much. Besides, I know you’re itching to dance.” Alexia nudged me with her shoulder as I finished folding the blanket. “The Rensfields always hire the best musicians.”