My hand trembled as I clutched the crumpled piece of paper, its edges softened from my nervous folding and unfolding. The grand metal gates loomed before me, their intricate swirls and menacing spikes seeming to mock my confusion. 

"Luci?" Eamon's voice pulled me back from the edge of my daze, "What are you waiting for?"

"This can't be right," I murmured, gesturing helplessly at the address written in my mother's elegant script. "In her final days, maybe she didn't know what she was writing."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because," I sighed, the words heavy on my tongue, "she never spoke of coming from this." I gestured to the grand mansion before us. 

"In fairness, Luci, it's not like you grew up a peasant yourself. You were once wealthy—"

I cut him off with a quick shake of my head, my dark hair whipping across my cheeks. 

"Not like this," I whispered, overwhelmed by the enormity of the estate.

The resolve that had carried me across continents and oceans wilted under the weight of intimidation. 

"I'll come back another day," I decided abruptly, turning to leave.

As we retreated, the rattle of wheels on cobblestone halted us. A carriage, lacquered and gleaming, drew up to the estate. With military precision, several guards appeared, their uniforms a dark emerald green, neat and pristine, to open the gates and shield those inside from the passersby gaze. 

My attention snagged on the briefest flutter of curtains; a pair of green eyes met mine, curious and fleeting, before the carriage slipped into the property and left us behind.

"Luci," Eamon caught up to my retreating form, his steps brisk. "Why don't you ask? Confirm this is the place?"

"It doesn't feel like the right time," I admitted, though my own words rang hollow even to my ears.

"Six months, Luciana," Eamon reminded me gently. "We've been traveling for six months to get here."

"I know, Eamon," I muttered, knowing the toll our journey had taken on us both. "But I'm just not ready to face whatever or whoever lives inside that place."

Our footsteps echoed off the stone streets as we made our way through Fyrastra, Aurorea's capital, passing vendors hawking exotic spices and colorful textiles. Buildings rose around us, their facades adorned with the gilded remains of history. The air was thick with the sounds of commerce and the sweet tang of life in full bloom.

The sun was low on the horizon by the time we arrived at an inn nestled between two imposing structures. Its sign creaked softly in the breeze. 

"Two rooms for the night?" Eamon inquired of the innkeeper.

"There's only one room left." Came the reply from the innkeeper as the key slid across the worn wooden counter into my outstretched hand.

"Surely, you have another room available." Eamon started to press. "It's the slow travel season in the capital, it is impossible for you to be completely sold out." 

The innkeeper, a stout woman with red hair pulled into two braids that fell over each of her shoulders, finally glanced at him. Her gaze scanned Eamon's face. She tilted her head as her eyes travelled further down his muscular build, lingering around his crotch. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she scoffed. 

"Who are you two trying to fool?"

"I am the lady's personal attendant!" Was Eamon's offended reply. 

I placed my hand on his forearm, signaling to save his breath, as I took the key that was dangling from the innkeepers thick fingers. 

At the beginning of our journey, Eamon or I would stress to the innkeepers that we needed two separate rooms, as etiquette demanded. But we hadn't expected to be traveling for so long, and with funds running low, we got used to sharing one room. 

With a weary nod of thanks, we ascended the stairs.

Eamon opened the door to the modest room, stepping into the dim, comforting space.

 "Shall we find some dinner?" he asked as he flopped down onto the small bed. 

I fished out a small pouch from my pocket, letting the few remaining coins jingle dismally inside.

"We'll have to share something. And I can pick up some work tomorrow." I shook my head, rueful.

Eamon's brows knitted together in concern, "We must tread carefully here, Luci. Aurorea is not like Nimrea. Your talents... they could draw unwanted attention. I will look for work."

I laughed louder than I meant at his suggestion. Eamon feigned a wounded expression, touching a hand to his chest.

"And what labor will you seek? The role of 'esteemed personal attendant' isn't widely sought after in these parts." I asked mockingly. 

"There's more to me than meets the eye," he protested, though the glint in his blue eyes betrayed his mirth.

"Sure there is," I chuckled, my gaze fond. "After all, who would know you better than I?"

We descended the stairs to the pub area, where the scent of roasting meat and spiced ale filled the air. We quickly found a table in the middle of the room, and a young girl approached, pad in hand, ready to take our orders.

"What'll it be tonight?" she chirped, looking between us expectantly.

"Roasted chicken, some side dishes of vegetables and rice, and your cheapest fruit juice." Eamon requested, his tone polite and practiced.

Turning her attention to me, the young girl hesitated before asking, "And for you, miss?"

"We'll share," interjected Eamon. The girl gave a curt nod and disappeared back towards the kitchen.

"Old habits die hard." I ribbed him gently, "You're not my attendant anymore, Eamon."

"Then what am I?" he asked, a half-smile curving his lips as he leaned back into his chair.

I stared at him fondly, looking for the right words to describe our new dynamic, when the food arrived, the portions were laughably small, a far cry from the hearty meals surrounding patrons enjoyed. Glancing towards the kitchen, I caught sight of the cook and barmaid exchanging sneers in our direction. It was an intentional slight. Eamon's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly as he prepared to rise, but I laid a calming hand on his arm.

"Leave it," I murmured before bowing my head, my hands coming together in an imitation of prayer. Eamon watched me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he recognized the subtle movements of my fingers—I was no more praying than the cook was innocent.

A sharp cry shattered the murmurs of the pub, followed by a cacophony of crashing pots and clanging pans. Heads whipped toward the kitchen as a cloud of flour dust billowed out like a specter escaping confinement. Through the haze, the cook, his apron askew, teetered on one foot before landing squarely on his backside amidst a scattered array of vegetables.

The barmaid, in her attempt to navigate the chaos, skidded on a rogue tomato, flailing wildly with a tray of ale mugs that took flight, showering their golden contents like a summer rain over the cook's prone form. The patrons erupted into laughter as the two disgruntled employees exchanged a mortified glance, their earlier sneers wiped clean by the slapstick misfortune.

"Brilliantly done." Eamon whispered to me, leaning closer with admiration glittering in his eyes. His words tickled my ear, as a shiver ran down my spine.

"Whatever do you mean?" I replied, my voice laced with feigned innocence while a knowing smirk played upon my lips.

As we turned back to our meager meal, the pub door swung open with an authoritative thud, catching the attention of all within. Three dashing men adorned in emerald and gold uniforms strode in, their presence commanding immediate silence.

Eamon's gaze lingered a moment too long. 

I, amused by his infatuation, offered him a napkin with a teasing arch of my brow. 

"For your drool, dear Eamon."

The whispers now returned, swirling through the room like an invisible tide. Puzzled glances were exchanged, the patrons' curiosity piqued as the knights scanned the room with a sense of purpose that sent a ripple of tension through the air.

Eamon's cheeks flushed a shade of rose as the lead knight locked eyes on our table, his stride confident and purposeful as he made his way to us.

Quick fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt as Eamon smoothed out imaginary creases while his other hand swept through his light blond hair.

"Oh, they're coming over here. How do I look?" Eamon's voice quivered slightly, betraying his composed exterior.

I couldn't help but laugh softly, my gaze affectionate. 

"As handsome as always," I assured him, my words echoing the truth I saw every day. 

Eamon, with his strong chiseled jawline, eyes as bright as a clear summer day, and hair that seemed to capture the perfect balance between meticulously styled and effortlessly tousled, was undeniably attractive. He was the kind of person who drew eyes wherever he went, a fact I was acutely aware of, having seen countless people lavish him with attention all my life.

The lead knight, his own attractiveness notable, halted before us. His voice cut through the murmurs of the pub like a sword through silk. "Miss, you must come with me," he said directly to me. 

"And just where do you plan on taking my lady?" he inquired, his tone laced with mock indignation masking his concern with a dash of his usual charm. 

It was as if the knight truly noticed Eamon for the first time, his gaze flicking towards him but offering no reply. Instead, he doubled down on his demand to me. 

"You are required to accompany me back. The Marquess has summoned you."

Confusion rippled between Eamon and me, a silent conversation passing through our shared glance. 

"What could the Marquess possibly want with me? I have no dealings with him," I finally voiced, my confusion turning into a hint of defiance.

The knight's face twisted into a look of scorn, his patience wearing thin. 

"My lady, it would be wise not to cause a scene. It's in your best interest to comply," he pressed, his tone veering into the realm of threats.

That was the last straw for Eamon. Gone was the playful flirtatious demeanor. 

Standing and placing himself squarely between me and the knight, his gaze was cold. A brief look of shock crossed the knight's face as Eamon stood his full height and towered several inches over him. 

"As my lady has clearly stated, she has no business with the Marquess," Eamon retorted firmly.

Tension crackled in the air, palpable and sharp, as the two knights behind their spokesman subtly reached for their swords. 

A dry chuckle rumbled low in Eamon’s chest as he planted his hands on his hips, tilting his head with a disarming smirk. His eyes, sharp as steel, scanned the three knights before him, lingering pointedly on their twitching hands hovering near their swords.

“Three knights against one man?” he taunted, his voice a velvety blend of amusement and disdain. “Surely, you don’t feel threatened by me.”

The lead knight’s jaw tightened, the veins along his temples bulging beneath the strain. He glanced back at his companions, giving a curt nod for them to stand down. Reluctantly, they eased their hands away from their weapons, though their tension remained palpable. Turning back to me, the knight’s gaze softened slightly, as if expecting my compliance to defuse the situation.

I offered him a saccharine smile, a practiced mask of charm that lulled him into a false sense of ease. His shoulders relaxed, the tension seeping out of his stance. Fool.

“As my attendant and I have already made clear,” I began, my voice honeyed yet firm, “we have no dealings with the Marquess. We only arrived in town today, making it quite impossible for us to be the ones you seek. I won’t be going anywhere with you.”

The words had barely left my lips when one of the knights behind him, a younger man with fiery impatience stepped forward. 

“How dare you defy an order from the Marquess!” he snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of his fury. 

Before I could reply, his hand shot forward, gripping my arm with bruising force as he yanked me out of my chair. Gasps rippled through the room, the patrons watching the unknightly display with wide-eyed shock.

Eamon moved with predatory speed, his hand clamping down on the knight’s wrist like an iron vice. The young man’s grip faltered instantly, his hand falling away from my arm. In one fluid motion, Eamon twisted the knight’s arm behind his back and slammed him onto the table, sending plates and utensils clattering to the floor.

The remaining knights didn’t hesitate, drawing their swords in unison. The metallic whisper of blades leaving their sheaths sent a cold shiver down my spine. Their weapons gleamed, poised to strike at Eamon’s unprotected back.

I surged forward, placing myself squarely between Eamon and the raised swords. “That is enough!” I commanded, my voice sharp and resolute. My heart thundered, magic coiling beneath my skin, eager to break free. But I couldn’t—too many eyes, too many risks.

The tension in the room thickened like a storm cloud, threatening to break, when an authoritative voice cut through the standoff.

“The young lady is correct.”

All eyes turned toward the door, where an older man entered with measured grace. His tailored suit was immaculate, his graying black hair streaked with silver at the temples, lending him an air of distinguished authority.

“Put your swords away,” he ordered. Their compliance was reluctant, as their glares lingered on Eamon, who still held their youngest comrade pinned to the table.

The older man stepped closer, his gaze steady as it locked with mine. He tilted his head slightly, his meaning clear without a word spoken. I touched Eamon’s shoulder, the warmth of his tension beneath my palm betraying his reluctance.

“Let him go,” I murmured softly.

Eamon obeyed, releasing the knight with a push that sent the young man stumbling upright, his face flushed red with anger and humiliation. The fallen knight glared at Eamon, his pride clearly wounded, but dared not retaliate.

“I must apologize for their behavior,” the older man said smoothly, his words crafted with diplomatic precision. “They can be... overzealous in fulfilling their orders.”

I said nothing, my gaze icy as Eamon stepped beside me. Though I didn’t look up at him, I could feel the heat of his glare burning down at the knights from his formidable height.

The silence stretched taut. It seemed to last an eternity, pressing against my chest until I opened my mouth to break it—but Eamon was faster.

“My lady has no business with the Marquess,” he declared firmly, his voice steady as a blade drawn in warning. His arm snaked around my waist in a protective gesture, pulling me closer. The older gentleman’s brow quirked at the movement, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his otherwise composed expression.

“I regret disrupting your evening, truly. However, the Marquess will speak with you, miss. We will return in the morning to escort you to him.”

Satisfied, the older gentleman turned his attention back to us, his expression softening with a smile—not the saccharine smirk I had offered the knights earlier, but something genuine. It was the kind of smile that spoke of quiet confidence, a certainty that his will would prevail no matter what resistance I might muster.