The carriage wheels grounded to a halt, and Eamon offered his hand to assist me as I descended onto the cobblestone path. A stern figure awaited us at the front doors. His back ramrod straight, hands clasped behind him, dressed in an impeccable tailcoat that whispered of unwavering duty.

"Welcome to the Lorne estate. I am the head butler, Hawthorne." 

Then guiding us through the grand double doors that opened into a spectacle of opulence. Gold leaf adorned the high ceilings from which hung chandeliers, their crystals casting rainbows upon marble floors polished to mirror-like perfection. Portraits of stern ancestors gazed down upon them, and the scent of ancient wood and beeswax floated in the air.

Hawthorne ushered us through the labyrinthine corridors into a sitting room that seemed to cocoon us in luxury. Dark wood paneling climbed the walls, encasing books and oddities collected over generations, and plush velvet chairs invited whispered confidences around a fireplace large enough to stand in.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," Lord Abernathy instructed before whispering a command to Hawthorne, who bowed slightly. "Tea will be brought shortly, and the Marquess shall be informed of your arrival."

The door clicked shut, and silence enveloped us, as we both looked around us feeling completely out of place. 

"Who knew that you were nobility, my lady."

"None of this makes sense," I countered, yet my voice betrayed the weight of the revelation pressing down upon me.

"Luciana, this is a big deal." Eamon's tone held an edge, his gaze intense. "The Marquess wields power, influence—"

"So he has money and a big house?".

"It is more than that," he said, exasperated. "In Aurorea, a Marquess is just below a Duke and the King himself."

The information hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. Before I could recover, Hawthorne reappeared, his voice cutting through the tension. 

"The Marquess of Lorne."

The doors swung open again, admitting a figure of undeniable authority. The Marquess' red hair blazed like the setting sun, and those striking green eyes, so like my own, surveyed us with keen interest. Age had etched lines of wisdom into his skin, and his cane, ornate and elegant, tapped lightly against the floor, a metronome of power.

Eamon dropped into a bow, fluid and respectful, but I hesitated, uncertain, until Eamon's tug at my arm prompted my awkward imitation. I heard the Marquess chuckle, a sound that held both warmth and apprehension.

"Please excuse my lady, your lordship," Eamon spoke up quickly. "She does not mean offense; she is not accustomed to the proper greetings of Aurorea."

Surprise flickered across my face as I realized Eamon knew more about this kingdom than I had initially thought. His stern glance urged me forward.

"It is a pleasure to meet your lordship," I managed to say, though my voice stumbled a bit, "my name is Luciana Galilahi Kildare."

My words seemed to hang heavy in the air, loaded with unspoken truths and questions. The Marquess regarded me with a piercing intensity that felt like it was reaching into my very soul, the silent exchange charged with a tension that rattled my bones.

"Please, take a seat," the Marquess de Lorne gestured with an affable tilt of his head. Eamon stood behind me, a silent guardian, as I lowered myself onto the plush velvet of the couch. The butler, poised and watchful, returned with a maid in tow, her hands steady on a tea cart laden with china that gleamed beneath the chandelier's opulent glow.

The clink of porcelain against wood punctuated the silence as they arranged the tea service on the table nestled between the two facing couches. Once served, the fragrant steam curled into the air, a delicate dance of jasmine and bergamot. The marquess cleared his throat, his gaze seeking mine with an unsettling tenderness.

"I am sure you are wondering why I requested an audience with you?" His voice was smooth, each word measured.

"Yes," I replied, my smile strained at the edges. "I don't believe we have any business."

"Earlier today, you were standing at the gates?" The Marquess pressed, his eyes searching for something within mine.

I flinched, the memory fresh and stinging. "Yes, I was. But it was by accident; I seem to have been given the wrong address. I apologize if that caused any offense." I found my resolve. "As my attendant has previously mentioned, I am still learning the customs of your kingdom."

"So you hail from beyond Aurorea?"

"Yes, we have traveled here from Nimrethea."

The Marquess studied me for a bit before continuing, "That address you were given, who was it supposed to lead you to?" His question hung heavy in the air.

A moment's hesitation gripped me; honesty warred with caution. I recalled the knights' harsh treatment and Lord Abernathy's cryptic warning during the carriage ride and chose to tell the truth.

"My family...or rather my mother's side of the family. She...she told me to go to that address before she died."

Upon my confession, the Marquess recoiled as though struck, his seasoned facade crumbling for an instant. His eyes mirrored a stormy sea, misting over rapidly.

"Your mother is dead?" he whispered, more to himself than to me.

"Yes, she passed away a year ago," I said, my voice a ghostly echo in the grandeur of the sitting room.

A ragged sigh escaped him, and he stood abruptly, his movements betraying a frailty unbefitting his station.

"I am sorry for your loss," he murmured before turning to Lord Abernathy. "I leave the rest to you." With those words, he exited, leaving a wake of stunned silence.

Lord Abernathy, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, slid a giant ledger across the table towards me. The leather cover cracked as I opened it, revealing portraits that whispered of bygone days. A younger Marquess smiled back at me from the past, alongside two children—a girl and a boy.

"Would you confirm if you know the woman in these portraits?" Lord Abernathy asked, his voice laced with a hidden gravity.

My gaze flitted over the older woman in the picture, a stranger yet oddly familiar. I shook my head, ready to deny any recognition, but then the pages turned, revealing the visage of adolescence. My breath hitched, words lodged in my throat.

There, amidst the sepia tones and faded edges, my mother radiated, her red hair a fiery cascade, her green eyes luminescent portals to my soul. Beside me, Eamon inhaled sharply, his presence a sudden heat at my shoulder.

"Is this..." I began, my voice quivering like a violin string too taut.

"Your mother," Eamon finished for me, his gasp still lingering in the air.

A profound silence enveloped us, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock somewhere in the depths of the mansion, marking the seconds that stretched into eternity.

Trembling fingers traced the contours of my mother's face in the portrait, and my vision blurred as tears spilled over. My voice broke the somber atmosphere, carrying the weight of realization. 

"This is my mother," I whispered.

Lord Abernathy's eyes softened, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he nodded. 

"As we expected."

Eamon, who had been a silent sentinel up to this point, stepped forward. His voice carried a mixture of confusion and curiosity. 

"You already knew, but how?"

"Ah," Lord Abernathy began, pausing for effect. "When the carriage entered the gates, the Marquess saw her—saw Lady Luciana—and he knew."

Eamon furrowed his brow, perplexed. 

"How is that possible?"

"Her eyes," Lord Abernathy said, pointing at my tear-streaked face. "In Aurorea, only those of the Marquess' bloodline possess such eye color. And when she introduced herself..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air, but both Eamon and I looked at him expectantly.

"The Marquess of Lorne is merely a title; Kildare is the family name," he added, turning back to me with an expression that seemed to carry centuries of secrets.

My heart pounded in my chest, the shock rendering me speechless. I could feel the bloodline's legacy wrapping around me like an invisible mantle. 

"So then my mother was..."

"The eldest daughter of the Marquess and the rightful heir to the marquessate." Lord Abernathy confirmed.

Understanding the turmoil reflected in my eyes, Lord Abernathy motioned to Hawthorne. 

"Please, take Lady Kildare to her quarters. She requires rest."

As Eamon offered his arm to support me, I rose unsteadily from the couch. The world seemed to twist and turn around me, and I walked as if in a trance, following the butler through the opulent corridors. The echo of our footsteps melded with the thundering of my heartbeat, each step a reminder of my newfound lineage.

"Your belongings have been retrieved from the pub," Hawthorne informed me as we reached the room. "I shall show your attendant to the staff quarters."

Hearing that Eamon would be shown to separate quarters, panic clawed its way up my throat, and I instinctively grasped his arm. His touch was a lifeline in the stormy sea of my thoughts.

"Get comfortable," he reassured me, gently prying my fingers loose. "I'll be back."

Left alone in my chambers, I grappled with the revelations. A knock at the door jolted me from my introspection.

"My lady, may I come in?" came a soft inquiry from beyond the wood.

"Enter," I replied.

A young maid slipped into the room, her hazel eyes wide with deference, framed by a cascade of chestnut curls. She introduced herself as Elara, a slight tremble in her voice betraying her nervousness.

"Would you care for a bath, my lady?" Elara asked, her hands clasped tightly before her.

"Please," I murmured, grateful for any semblance of normalcy.

Elara set to work, filling the copper bathtub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils that filled the room with a soothing aroma. As I submerged into the warmth, memories of my childhood resurfaced when I also had a maid who prepared my baths. That was before my life became a relentless pursuit of survival.

Afterward, Elara helped me into an emerald silk gown that clung to my form and accentuated my eyes. The dress was a masterpiece of simplicity, its elegance derived from expert cuts rather than excessive adornment.

"Truly stunning, my lady," Elara breathed out, awe coloring her tone.

Another knock resounded, and Eamon entered, he was now dressed in the uniform the male staff wore. But it looked much better on his broad frame. The maid's gaze lingered on him a moment too long; admiration etched into every line of her face.

"Thank you, Elara. That will be all," I said, dismissing the maid with a subtle nod.

"But, my lady, it is not proper to be left in your room alone with a man." Elara stammered as she looked between Eamon and me.

"Eamon is like a brother to me; it will be all right," I answered. 

Elara hesitated before she curtsied and exited, leaving us alone in the splendor of the chamber.

Eamon scanned the room, taking in the grandeur with wide eyes. 

"This morning, you believed your family was merely wealthy, but as it turns out, you're high nobility, my lady, and an heiress."

The word 'heiress' echoed in my mind, setting off a cacophony of whirling thoughts. 

"What does that even mean? Aren't only males allowed to inherit titles?"

"Usually, yes," Eamon conceded, his tone steady and calm. "But laws vary from kingdom to kingdom. In some cases, a daughter can inherit everything. This appears to be one of those instances."

I collapsed onto the bed, the sheer enormity of my new reality pressing down upon me. 

"Why would my mother send me here knowing..."

"About your abilities and the prejudices of this kingdom," Eamon finished for me, understanding exactly what was going through my mind.

I groaned, a sound of both resignation and dread. Staring upward, I focused on the ceiling where an elaborate fresco depicted a garden of eternal spring, the painted flora seeming to bloom beneath an ever-blue sky. Raising my hand, a soft green glow emanated from my palm, coalescing into the shape of a blossoming flower.

"This place is why witches went into hiding," I whispered, the magic dissipating into the air. "So why would she have me return?"