"Noble or commoner, the role of the Lady of the House is similar. The only difference is the scale."

Baroness Sylvia laid her spoon beside her now-empty bowl of oatmeal and raisins. One of her maids-of-honor, auburn-haired Heloise, had just brought Meya water in a metal basin and a towel, and Meya had washed Beau's slobber off her face.

"When Coris becomes Baron Hadrian, you will take my place as Baroness. Coris will take care of his land and his people, and you will keep his house nice and tidy for him. Your job is to manage our staff, supervise the scullery, and raise the children, yours and others alike."

The Baroness tilted her head towards Heloise, who retrieved the basin and passed it on to a chambermaid, then swept back to resume her place at the tapestried wall with the other maids, squires and pages.

Meya had seen these boys and girls in the background since she arrived two days ago, of course, but now she studied them with more care. Heloise and the girl with the chestnut ponytail looked to be Meya's age, but the pouting little girl with black curls looked not a day above seven.

There was a squire who looked like the healthier version of Coris, a handsome squire with a serene expression not unlike Arinel, and a fidgety pageboy of around ten years old. He had the brown skin and curly black hair of the Southern Islanders. Even dressed in plain-looking clothes, they were blessed with the unblemished skin and ideal facial attributes of nobility, and they had the refined air of the well-bred about them.

Meya had heard that girls of noble birth would be sent to serve older noblewomen as training in deportment, while boys would become pages and squires to learn knighthood. Say she did become Baroness someday, how was she supposed to raise them? After all, she was a peasant girl who had had both parents to raise her, and she couldn't even grow up properly herself.

"Whenever Coris is absent, you must also take his place. So, it is imperative that you learn the manor's accounts and law as well."

The Baroness continued as if to dampen Meya's spirits further. Accounts and law? Goodly Freda, she didn't even know how to write numbers!

Meya creaked out a smile and a dainty nod, despite her shivering heart. Being a lady seemed to entail much more than providing the lord with children, and Meya was delighted to learn that. Overall, it seemed an interesting job, and she was eager to learn, of course, now that she had the chance. However, what would the Baroness's reaction be when she discovered the girl who claimed to be Lady Arinel couldn't even write her own name?

As if she could sense Meya's dismay, the Baroness smiled in sympathy.

"Daunting, isn't it?" She reached out to clasp Meya's clammy hand in hers. Meya nodded vigorously, eyes wide in desperation. Sylvia laughed, shaking her head and gazing at Meya with mounting affection.

"I could only imagine how difficult it must be for you. I myself trained from the age of seven, but by Freda, thirteen years later and I was still a lass out of her depth when I married Kellis. And you're only sixteen!"

The Baroness turned and giggled at her husband, who chuckled in fond remembrance. Meya wondered how she could be so affectionate with the man who had once driven her to the point of suicide by poisoning her son half-dead. The Baroness turned back to her then, and Meya had no choice but to refocus on the conversation.

"Don't worry. You still have time to watch and learn. And, of course, you'll have the staff to assist you." Sylvia nodded towards the long table in the middle of the Hall, where the staff and servants were supping with lower-ranking members of the visiting lords and ladies' entourages.

"You'll mainly be working with our seneschal, Sir Emery Nethan. He manages all the castle's staff."

Meya followed Sylvia's indicating hand to a suave middle-aged man with long, graying black hair in a ponytail. He rested his oatmeal-filled spoon on the lip of his half-full bread-bowl, engrossed in polite conversation with a plump man in his fifties, who had a bald patch surrounded by flaxen hair and a magnificent curved mustache. Meya recognized the latter from her first day here.

"The one across him is the chamberlain, Sir Rondell. He takes care of our quarters and our wardrobe. And, of course, that's Sir Jarl, the marshal. He's in charge of the grounds, the stables, the men-at-arms and the craftsmen."

Sir Jarl, a muscular, broad-chested knight with suntanned skin, downed his oatmeal as if in a race against time; Lord Zier had sent him to bring Beau in to see Meya, and he needed to catch up.

Meya sneaked a worried glance at the door. Zier had told her that Beau was a seasoned war dog, and the mutt had bounded off the moment she whispered into his ear to bring the note to Coris, but Meya had no means of knowing for sure if the message would reach its recipient. To top that, Zier had just left to bring breakfast up to Coris. Would he run into Beau on the way or in Coris's room? How would he react?

⏳

After breakfast, Baroness Sylvia took Meya along to see her daily routine and showed her around the castle. First, she hosted a tea party in the outdoor pavilion to entertain the visiting ladies, while the Baron took the lords out to hunt game in his forest.

The pavilion was embraced by a blanket of bright red hexagonal roses reaching all the way to the keep's wall. As the roses swayed in the breeze, from afar it seemed as if the silvery-white limewashed pavilion was floating on a rippling crimson lake.

"These Hadrian Roses are the only ones in Latakia." The Baroness said as she reached down to caress those velvety petals. "They bloom all through the year, except for winter. Sir Rondell is in charge of harvesting their petals and making the Hadrian Red dye."

The party's guests were just as colorful. Most of the ladies had brought their teenage daughters, decked out in their clan's unique colors and giddy with excitement as they discussed the upcoming feast. Particularly, who would the most attractive young heirs choose to be their pairs for the dance.

After that, they dropped by the scullery. Through the dizzying maelstrom of dozens of cooks, assistants and maids, Meya spotted Lady Arinel, Haselle and the other Crossetian maids standing guard over the stew vats.

Meya could do little more than fitting herself into the Baroness's shadow, pretending to listen as she discussed tonight's menu, the preferences and food allergies of the guests, and the procurement of supplies with Head Cook Apollon.

During the evening celebrations, the scullery would prepare food for the nobles' feast in the Great Hall and set up a separate station in the courtyard to cook for the commoners. Thus, after they were done with the scullery, the Baroness headed next to the courtyard to supervise the food marquees. Next, she took Meya to the treasury to meet Sir Claptorpe, the treasurer, to review the budget for the wedding.

Next, the Baroness led Meya to the chapel. Though built of thick sandstone, the interior of the chapel was flooded with the light of high noon from rows of tall stained-glass windows. The sunlight filtered through tinted glass pooled on the granite floor slabs in rippling rainbow puddles.

Meya had never seen this much glass in one place before, much less stained-glass. Not even in Crosset Castle. The Hadrians really were disgustingly rich.

Stone pillars beset with ornate curlicues protruded from the walls at precise intervals. The panels in between were blanketed with paintings of the goddess Freda, and scenes from Latakia's war of independence from Nostra.

The first panel to the door's left, however, depicted a bizarre scene Meya couldn't interpret. On one side was a mountain with fire rising from its summit. A flock of what seemed to be dragons of all colors were flying away from it, crossing the sea towards the mainland. The dragon in the lead was dark green, with glowing green eyes. A human knight in armor was clinging to it. The scene felt familiar to Meya.

And then it hit her. It was the insignia on an old belt buckle of Dad's; a dragon flying over the sea! There were runes upon it, too. Meya had nicked it from Dad's belt for a closer look one day, and Myron had told her it read We Shall Return.

Return where? The seven siblings had wondered. The Hilds had lived in Crosset and nearby manors for seven generations, and she reckoned their history went no further than that.

A string of elaborate runes unfurled on the banner painted beneath the panel. The Baroness reached out and caressed it.

"Duty and Atonement. Our motto."