Chapter 1

Aurelia, her auburn hair catching the pre-dawn light like burnished copper, stood resolute in her aunt's meadow. Her forest green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were narrowed in fierce concentration as she loosed another arrow. Each twang of the bowstring echoed the silent vow that resonated deep within her – vengeance.

The memory of that fateful night played on a loop in her mind, the image of her parents' lifeless forms etched into her soul. The king, a monster she once revered, had become the object of her all-consuming hatred.

Lost in the familiar burn of rage, Aurelia barely registered Freya's approach. Her handmaid, a wisp of a girl with eyes that mirrored the summer sky, arrived bearing a covered tray. Aurelia brought the arrow back, the world around her fading into a blur of vengeance-fueled practice.

Freya's soft cough pulled Aurelia from her reverie. She lowered the bow, a single eyebrow raised in silent question. Freya, ever the picture of courtesy, bobbed a curtsy, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. With a flourish, she unveiled the tray, revealing a tempting slice of lemon meringue pie.

Aurelia's eyes widened in delight, a flicker of warmth betraying her usual facade of stoicism. Though she tried to appear indifferent, Freya, ever attuned to her mistress's moods, saw through the charade. Aurelia had mastered the art of icy composure, a skill honed under the watchful eye of her stern Baroness aunt.

"My lady," Freya began, her voice barely a whisper, "Lady Baroness… well, she expressed some… concerns regarding your corset training and posture. She believes maintaining a certain… firmness is necessary."

Aurelia snorted, a hint of rebellion sparking in her emerald eyes. Her aunt's obsession with proper posture and restrictive corsets was a constant source of irritation. Lemon meringue, however, was a different story entirely. It was her one true indulgence, a secret pleasure she hadn't dared to experience in far too long.

"And this," Aurelia gestured pointedly at the pie, "is your way of defying her orders?"

Freya bit her lip, her smile turning sheepish. "Perhaps. But you looked so… focused this morning, my lady. I thought a little sweetness might… temper the mood."

Aurelia's emerald eyes flashed with a flicker of annoyance as she addressed Freya. "You shouldn't have risked it, Freya," her voice was a low hiss. "If my aunt discovers this indulgence, there will be hell to pay, and you know it."

Freya's shoulders slumped, and tears welled up in her summer sky blue eyes. "I'm so sorry, my lady. I just… I wanted to bring a little joy to your morning." Her voice trembled slightly.

Aurelia sighed, the sternness momentarily drained from her face. She knew Freya's heart was pure, and her loyalty unwavering. Scolding someone who cried so easily never sat well with Aurelia. She softened her tone slightly. "Just be more careful next time, alright?"

Freya nodded vigorously, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand. "Of course, my lady. I promise."

Aurelia picked up the slice of pie, a small, mischievous smile gracing her lips for a fleeting moment. She took a bite, savoring the familiar tartness that danced on her tongue. It was a forbidden pleasure, a taste of normalcy amidst the all-consuming bitterness of her past. Quickly, however, the smile vanished, replaced by her usual mask of stoicism. She took another bite, the taste a bittersweet reminder of a life she could no longer have.

Freya watched her lady with a secret smile. She never failed to be surprised by the glimpses of the young woman hidden beneath Aurelia's hardened exterior. Little things like this slice of pie could bring a spark of childlike joy to Aurelia's eyes, a sight Freya treasured.

Their peaceful interlude was shattered by the arrival of Gaius, the ever-stoic guardian of the Baroness. Unlike the other guards, Gaius seemed to hold a silent understanding with Aurelia, acting more as a protector than just another enforcer. His face, devoid of any emotion, remained as unreadable as a stone tablet as he bowed curtly. "My lady," he addressed her, his voice a low rumble.

Aurelia, caught mid-chew with another mouthful of pie, gulped it down hastily, crumbs scattering down her dress. Clearing her throat with a forced cough, she managed to ask, "What is it, Gaius?"

"The Baroness requests your presence in the tea room immediately," he replied, his gaze lingering for a moment on the empty pie tray, a silent judgment on their forbidden indulgence.

Aurelia frowned. It was highly unusual for her aunt to summon her so early in the morning, especially for tea. Evening was the Baroness's preferred time for such rituals. A knot of apprehension tightened in Aurelia's stomach. What could this sudden summons mean?

"That's unusual.." She tilted her head "Did she say why.."

Gaius' gaze flickered for a moment, a hint of something unreadable passing through his steely eyes. "It wouldn't be prudent to discuss it here." He replied his voice a low rumble. "The tea room awaits."

He bowed curtly, disappearing back into the stoic landscape of the meadow.

Aurelia glanced at Freya, whose cheeks, once the color of a summer sky, now rivaled the roses climbing the manor wall. Yes, smitten. Aurelia couldn't blame her. Gaius possessed a brooding handsomeness, a quiet charisma that set him apart from the preening peacock-like men who typically graced the manor. He wasn't like the others, forever chasing after anything with a skirt. But unlike Freya's obvious infatuation, Aurelia felt neither affection nor dislike towards Gaius. He was simply another facet of the life she was forced to endure.

Freya, jolted back to reality by Aurelia's clearing of the throat, bobbed a hasty curtsy. "My lady," she stammered, "I shall hold the fort here. I'll ensure the bow and arrows are safely returned to the shed."

With a nod of acceptance, she turned around and made her way towards the manor.

As she entered the manor, the scent of freshly polished wood and blooming roses greeting her after the crisp morning air of the meadow. Servants scurried about, their movements efficient and silent as they dusted furniture and pulled back heavy curtains, allowing the first rays of dawn to illuminate the grand hall. They bowed their heads in deference as she passed, their eyes filled with a mixture of respect and pity. Aurelia responded with a curt nod, her expression betraying none of the turmoil churning within her. Ascending the grand staircase, she navigated the familiar halls with a practiced ease. Reaching the tea room, she pushed open the ornately carved oak doors.

Inside, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun, sat her Aunt Meredith, the baroness. The woman, her only remaining family, was a stark contrast to the vibrant world outside. Her severe demeanor and the ironclad control she held over over every emotion were a constant reminder of the new life thrust upon Aurelia after the tragedy.

Aurelia curtsied, her voice a mere whisper, "Good morning, Aunt Meredith."

The Baroness turned, her hawk-like gaze scrutinizing Aurelia for any sign of weakness. A faint flicker of something akin to concern softened the harsh lines of her face for a fleeting moment before it vanished.

"Come have tea with me." Her aunt gestured.

As Aurelia sat down opposite her aunt, she went ahead and poured herself a cup of green tea, the fragrant steam a welcome contrast to the cool morning air clinging to her clothes. Her aunt, frowned, a sharp click of her tongue echoing in the refined silence of the tea room.

"Aurelia," the Baroness began, her voice clipped and precise, "did you wash your hands after… your sojourn in the meadow?"

Aurelia fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her aunt, the embodiment of propriety and etiquette, would likely faint if she knew about the forbidden indulgence of lemon meringue pie hidden beneath her bodice. Maintaining a carefully constructed mask of indifference, Aurelia simply replied, "Of course, Aunt Meredith."

The Baroness waved a dismissive hand, the emerald on her ring catching the sunlight and glinting like a malevolent eye. "Good. We are expecting visitors this afternoon."

Aurelia's stomach clenched. Visitors rarely brought joy to the manor, and the news of their impending arrival did little to ease the knot of apprehension tightening in her gut. "Who might that be, Aunt?" she inquired, her voice carefully neutral.

"The Crestwell family," her aunt announced, a hint of something akin to satisfaction lacing her tone.

Aurelia couldn't suppress the flicker of annoyance that colored her expression. The Crestwells were about as welcome as a swarm of locusts. Her late father's brother, Edgar Crestwell, was a man who never missed an opportunity to display his thinly veiled contempt for Aurelia. He likely still harbored resentment over the inheritance left entirely to her, a decision he deemed unfair.

Then there was Veronica Crestwell, her other paternal aunt. A woman whose gaze could curdle milk and whose primary pastime seemed to be criticizing Aurelia's posture, etiquette, and basically everything else she did.

Charlene, the Crestwell's only daughter, was a walking, talking stereotype of a spoiled brat. Her incessant whining and knack for getting under Aurelia's skin were legendary.

And finally, there was Bartram, the ever-ignorant son. The boy seemed blissfully unaware of the family business dealings and generally acted like a buffoon at every social gathering. Despite his obliviousness, he too, followed the family script, harboring an inexplicable loathing for Aurelia.

The prospect of spending an afternoon enduring their company was enough to curdle Aurelia's stomach further. Taking a large gulp of tea, she steeled herself for the inevitable barbs and thinly veiled insults that were sure to come.