Content warning - Mention of forced/arranged marriage




The manor was brilliantly lit, and a long procession of carriages and coaches of all kinds queued up to enter. The transition from childhood to adulthood among the Mydrians was always a cause for great celebration. The occasion was even more grand when the heir in question was the only daughter of a couple from the minor nobility of Peans.


The building was located near the coast, on a small rise, making the festivities visible for miles around. The parents had clearly spared no expense on invitations, as the entire town and surrounding villages seemed to be invited. Hence, the procession of horse-drawn vehicles was as diverse in appearance and status. It was therefore not surprising that a carriage pulled by unknown creatures aroused no curiosity, nor did the appearance of the man who descended from it alone, without a valet or escort, while the carriage seemed as luxurious as it was strange, constructed as if from intertwined plants.


The man proceeded, greeted by the butler at the door who promptly directed him to the cloakroom. The vestibule was simple, without excessive decoration, and a passage to the right led to another valet attending to rows of hanging garments awaiting their owners' return. Another corridor opposite the entrance seemed to open into a larger, brighter hall dominated by a staircase.


He passed by the door on the right without stopping and entered the hall. A few young women, admiring him, fluttered their fans, trying to catch his interest by playing the coquette, but he didn't even spare them a glance. His attention was entirely focused on the staircase and the small crowd gathering there, anticipating some event. He frowned and took a step to the side, heading towards a room on the left where music was coming from, when a movement at the top of the stairs caught his full attention.


A young woman had just appeared on the landing. She blushed slightly, flustered by the attention she was receiving, and Gods, how could it be otherwise? Her tawny hair was loosely pinned back at the temples with clips adorned with white flowers and gemstones, while the lengths cascaded over her shoulders. Her delicate black lashes brushed her flushed cheeks dotted with freckles as she kept her eyes lowered on the steps. Her slender figure was accentuated by a large, billowy ecru dress, with veil sleeves adorned with lace, cinched by a golden cord below her chest.


The stranger did not miss a single moment of this scene. He was so absorbed by the young woman descending the stairs that he did not feel the approach of the man who had stepped closer.


"So many men like you, captivated by Miss Ferhawen. And rightly so, she is undoubtedly the most beautiful young woman in the region."


The stranger turned his gaze to the man who was obviously addressing him. A man apparently in his forties, though that meant nothing among the Mydrians, his graying hair pulled back, his proud and glossy mustache covering his upper lip, and his broad shoulders stretching his suit. An outfit he had probably hurriedly taken out for the occasion without the prospect of alterations, as his warrior's stature strained the seams of his shirt. His sharp blue eyes were fixed on the stranger, and the latter stiffened. The man was scrutinizing him, assessing him from every angle, which aroused his caution. He smiled as naturally as possible, nodding his head, eager not to attract any more attention, and returned his gaze to the young woman.


As she reached the final steps, she looked up. Her eyes were as green as summer's new growth. A young man stepped forward, all smiles, his blond hair tied back in a ribbon. He offered his hand, bowing, and she placed hers in it, smiling slightly and curtseying briefly in response to his greeting. He escorted her to the foot of the stairs before sliding her hand onto his arm and placing his possessively. Then, he led her toward the room on the right, where the music emanated from.


The stranger had barely furrowed his brow, but he felt the old warrior's inquisitive gaze on him. No doubt nothing escaped him, however cautious he tried to be.


"And who is this gallant?" he asked without taking his eyes off the couple.


"Elric Northolme, her suitor. I wouldn't be surprised if we hear news of their engagement soon."


The stranger unconsciously clenched his fists, then forced himself to relax them. He had already attracted too much attention. The warrior continued, however, as if he hadn't noticed anything.


"They make a truly charming couple, don't you think? Without a doubt the most envied in the country... But, I'm neglecting my manners."


He coughed, making the stranger pay attention and finally turn to him. He then extended his hand with a firm gesture.


"Allow me to introduce myself, Sire Daflan, master-at-arms of Peans. And you are?"


The man was all smiles despite his unwavering gaze, observing the young man closely, analyzing every twitch. His smile faltered slightly as the stranger made no move to shake the offered hand.


"Baeltran. Sire Baeltran. Pleased to meet you."


With these words, the stranger turned on his heels and followed the couple into the room clearly at the heart of the festivities, leaving the master-at-arms behind him, brows furrowed, hand still extended.


Sire Daflan watched him disappear into the crowd, perplexed. This young man was mysterious to him; he had never seen him in Peans before, yet his haughty demeanor, presence, dignity—all were impossible to overlook. For a brief moment, he wondered if he might be a prince from a neighboring kingdom, but quickly dismissed the idea. As a master-at-arms, he was accustomed to the customs of courts, familiar with the compositions of each, and no monarch had a son who could match this young man in age and appearance, who had now majestically departed.


A young woman placed her hand on his shoulder, and he startled, releasing his extended hand, which he rubbed against his leg, feeling somewhat foolish for having been captivated by a stranger. The young woman smiled warmly, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.


"Well, well... Has our master-at-arms found his match?"


He cleared his throat and puffed up his chest, visibly ruffled by her impertinence.


"Enough, Lindréa. As talented as you are, there are limits not to be exceeded!"


"Oh, don't take it so badly... I'm sure you regret not shaking his hand."


She glanced at him sidelong, and he recognized the calculating coldness that made her the best—and the one who would succeed him.


"You could have found out if he wields a sword and whether he could surpass you... Admit it."


He fell silent, thoughtful. Something told him it was unnecessary to confirm what he already knew. In armed combat, he would stand no chance against this young man.



Baeltran, if that was indeed his name, slipped through the now crowded room that seemed to be the ballroom. A long room, supported by tall, elegant columns and ending in a masterpiece of glass and wrought iron in a half-dome, offering a stunning view of the ocean, day and night. The space in front of the bay window was occupied by a small orchestra now silent, and the rest of the gallery, though now besieged by scattered guests, was cleared of all furniture to allow the guests to dance. Opposite the musicians was a large table occupied by several people, and on either side of this table were several high tables adorned with various dishes for the guests.


The sound of a small bell echoed, and the murmur of conversation gradually faded. A massive man presided over the table and stood up, smiling broadly. He was tall, even for a Mydrian, with a commanding, broad stature, his long light chestnut hair tied back in a warrior's tail, his cheeks covered with a short, glossy beard. His strong, firm voice rose, definitively silencing the last murmurs. It was Dorian Ferhawen, the host.


"My friends! I am glad you are here with us to celebrate. For today, my daughter, Elyzara, leaves childhood behind forever to become an adult. But there is another reason why today is a day of celebration and joy!"


The man then extended both hands, and Elyzara stood to his right, while the young man who had escorted her from the stairs stood to his left. Elyzara's father then took their two hands, stepped back, and joined them in front of him in a somewhat theatrical gesture.


"Tonight, young Elric Northolme has asked for my daughter's hand, and I am immensely pleased to announce that I have accepted. Congratulations to them on their engagement!"


At these words, the entire crowd applauded with joyful exclamations, clearly the signal the orchestra had been waiting for to start playing dance music. Elric led Elyzara behind him, forcing people to step aside to make room, and sliding a hand onto her back, they began to whirl in a waltz.




The evening was in full swing, the dance floor crowded with swirling couples. Young Elyzara sighed discreetly. Cavaliers succeeded one another endlessly while her fiancé and father discussed further away, undoubtedly planning her entire future without her input. Her eyes wandered aimlessly, nodding absentmindedly to the chatter of one of Elric's friends with whom she was dancing, who seemed so delighted for her. Yet, she wished nothing more than to be far away from there. The crowd around the dance floor appeared blurry to her, this party exhausting her more than it should. Then, she saw him. And she wondered how she hadn't noticed him earlier.


He stood there, motionless in the crowd, his gray eyes fixed on her and her alone. His long black hair hung loose, framing his delicate features and pale skin like two curtains of night. He was tall, as tall as her father, if not more, likely towering over Elric by a head. His shoulders were broad, though not as broad as a warrior's. His white shirt was tucked into a sleeveless blue vest embroidered with silver, and his cuffs matched. His clothes were clearly tailored. She was so absorbed by this young man that she barely heard the music fade, responding absentmindedly to her dance partner's greeting. Just as she wondered if she was seeing a ghost or a statue, so still he seemed, he moved and headed straight toward her, dismissing a new dancer who approached to invite Elyzara without even a glance. He executed a perfect bow as he took her hand. He barely brushed his lips, sending a shiver through her, then requested in a deep, gentle voice, "Would you grant me this dance?"


Troubled, captivated, she was unable to reply and simply nodded, which made the stranger smile faintly as he straightened up, not releasing her, and placed his other hand on her waist, leading her into the waltz the orchestra had just started.


The crowd murmured and parted. The couple now swirling seemed almost out of a fairy tale, and no one seemed willing or able to look away. Their movements were graceful, perfectly synchronized; they seemed to float on the dance floor, eliciting envious sighs from the young women and smiles from the rest of the audience. But not from everyone. For at the back of the room, leaning against a column, Elric watched the pair dance, arms crossed, brows furrowed. And how could he react otherwise upon seeing his fiancée charmed before his eyes on the very evening he secured her hand?


Elyzara was breathless. She saw nothing but this stranger, felt nothing but his electrifying hand on her back. Her heart beat so loudly she could barely hear the music. The world around her disappeared. There were no longer guests, no party, no fiancés, no parents. There was only her and this young man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, with his gentle gaze fixed on hers and that slight smile meant only for her. She would have given anything for this moment never to end. But a voice in her head harshly reminded her of reality just as the final notes of music echoed. "Don't dream, Elyzara. You are promised to Elric; your fate is already decided. You have no right to hope for another."


At that moment, the stranger stopped, bowed again, brushing her hand with his lips, then stepped away as the crowd approached them suddenly, eager to learn more about the young man who had captivated everyone's attention for the duration of a dance.


Elyzara stood still for a few moments, watching the stranger melt into the crowd as strangely as he had emerged, then took advantage of the commotion to discreetly slip away. She needed air and solitude more than ever to regain her composure.


She stepped out onto the balcony behind the kitchens, a place where no one would think to look for her, offering her the moments of calm and solitude she desperately needed. She leaned on the stone balustrade, sighing, finally herself again, without the constant tension of having to embody the image of the docile and well-educated young woman in everyone's eyes.


A scraping sound startled her, and she turned sharply, hand over her heart. There, in the shadow near the door, Baeltran, her stranger, looked at her, leaning against the wall. He straightened up, his face marked by concern.


"Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I didn't think anyone would come here."


Elyzara sighed and sat on the balustrade. "My Gods, you scared me! I came here precisely because no one is here!"


"Oh... In that case, I'll leave you."


"No!" She coughed. "No... I suppose you're avoiding the crowd too; no need to throw yourself back into their arms."


"I'm exposed; I didn't mean to attract such interest, and it made me uncomfortable. And you, what are you fleeing from? Or whom?"


She looked at him, surprised. Baeltran hesitated for a moment.


"Forgive my indiscretion; perhaps it was inappropriate to ask you that question, but you seemed so relieved to be alone here... And I couldn't help but notice that your smile throughout the evening didn't seem to reflect your heart. You seemed... distant, detached. As if you wished you weren't here."


"I don't know where you come from, sir, but if your peers are all as observant as you, I thank the powers that be they weren't invited. I didn't think I was such a bad actress."


She breathed in, surprised. Why was she telling him all this? She had never mentioned her discomfort to anyone; why did she feel confident enough with him to open up? The young man approached her to speak in a low voice, almost confessing.


"Oh, your acting skills are safe, I assure you. To unmask you, all your guests would need spyglasses at your next party. And even then, I doubt they would notice anything!"


She burst into laughter at the idea, finally feeling the last tensions accumulated since the beginning of the evening release. The young man facing her now had an indefinable expression, almost tender.


"Now I'm reassured; what a disappointment it would be for everyone to know that I'm not enjoying this evening."


She abruptly stopped, eyes wide open. It was one thing to confide halfway; it was another to declare what she truly felt. Baeltran had knelt before her, visibly very concerned.


"My lady, I'm sorry to hear that. I would have thought every young woman would be happy to be united with the man she loves on the very day of her passage into adulthood."


She sniffed, a joyless laugh, and smiled sadly at him.


"Sir, it's not about love. Our families unite following an ancient promise made long before I was old enough to give my opinion. Elric may be fond of me, but I don't really have a say in this decision. I must maintain appearances and keep my own wishes hidden deep in my heart."


Baeltran gently took her hands in his.


"What would you have wished for?"


She looked at him, troubled, still surprised by what drove her to open up, to trust those gray eyes that scrutinized her without blinking, evidently capable of seeing beyond lies. An attention piercing her soul, urging her to answer sincerely. He squeezed her hands a little and repeated.


"Elyzara, what do you wish for?"


"I desire to live for myself, free, without bearing on my shoulders the hopes and aspirations of others, of my family. I wish to behave as I think, to be myself, to stop playing the comedy to maintain these damn appearances. I wish to live as I want, go where I want, love whom I want, without any constraints. Without anyone deciding my future for me."





















"May your wish come true."