Episode 3

~The Silent Sister~

Regina stammered softly as the warmth of her mother’s affection flooded her cheeks. “Ye-yes, Mother.” She swatted the folded blanket aside, cheeks burning as the touch lingered.

Gently, she took Maria’s hands to coax her back to the high-backed velvet chair by the window. Maria’s smile remained unwavering, serene as a placid lake. Regina settled beside her mother, her icy blue eyes flickering with hesitation as they drifted toward the sprawling gardens beyond.

“Mother...” Regina’s voice was a fragile whisper, heavy with unspoken thoughts. “I…”

Maria’s brow arched slightly, the anticipation lighting her eyes—she knew a revelation was near.

But then, with a bright grin that shattered the tension, Regina declared, “I’m back!”

The moment held, then Maria’s face shifted into a deadpan expression, mouth parted in brief silence. “What?” she uttered, bewildered.

Regina laughed, the sound light but edged with nervous energy. “Ha! Anyway, I must away. Goodbye all!” She rose swiftly, nominating escape before the atmosphere turned stiff with questions. “See you at luncheon!”

But just as the door beckoned, a firm grip seized Regina’s wrist—stopping her in mid-step.

“Now, dear child,” Maria’s voice dropped to a low, commanding murmur, “where do you suppose you’re gallivanting off to, after having walked straight into the very lair of the Dragon himself?”

Regina turned, her movements slow and deliberate as her mother’s sharp blue gaze pinned her like a huntress with prey.

“Come now,” Maria pressed, voice soft but laden with knowing. “Do tell me—what secret are you clutching so tight? You cannot think me blind to your whereabouts, nor foolish. I am fully aware you lost the duel to Carter—and according to your wager, you were tasked with fetching the finest baking flour for his sister’s kitchen. Hence, your journey so far afield just for a simple bag of flour.”

Regina’s laugh was awkward, a nervous melody in the sunlit room. “Ha... ha... so you know... huh?”

Maria’s eyes twinkled, pleased with her insight, the familiar game of wits threading warmly between mother and daughter as the estate’s quiet morning carried onward.

Regina de Olvestri Vendreich: The Archduchess of Blade and Strategy

Born into the respected house of Olvestri, a middle-ranking noble family of modest yet ancient heritage within the towering Empire of Granzholm, Regina de Olvestri’s early years unfolded under the stern yet tender gaze of her mother, Maria Rose—a woman forged in the crucible of war. Maria Rose had once stood as Captain of the Knighthood of the Imperial Order, her arm steady and her resolve unyielding in campaigns that shaped the very borders of their realm. When love tethered her to nobility, she carried into marriage not only a title but a legacy of strength and discipline, which she passed to her only child, Regina.

From a tender age, Regina’s deftness and discipline were unmistakable. By ten years, she had already wielded the sword with a grace and precision that left audiences breathless and rivals humbled. It was at this youthful stage that she first stepped onto the polished floor of the imperial arenas, competing in tournaments that tested strength, speed, and wit. Each triumph brought her more than medals—it garnered respect in a world dominated by the gentry and warriors alike, a rare accolade for a girl in her time.

Her ascent was not merely a matter of martial prowess. Regina’s mind, sharp as the blade she bore, was a scholar’s and strategist’s equally. Where others saw isolated skirmishes, she envisioned tides of battle; where most faltered in the small details, she wove fragments into clear, actionable tapestry. Observers noted her uncanny ability to decipher enemy intentions, anticipate moves, and recalibrate strategies with formidable agility.

By her seventeenth year, these qualities—her skilled hand, her tactical genius, and her unwavering poise—caught the sharp eye of the Emperor himself. At a prestigious hunting competition, where nobles and commoners alike vied for honor, it was Regina who emerged not only the victor but the undeniable star. Her feats were chronicled with fervor, and soon after, His Majesty appointed her as Dame of the Empire—a prestigious title rarely granted to women, marking her as a trailblazer in service and skill.

Beyond titles, Regina’s legacy is engraved in the annals of war. She was the very first woman to take her place shoulder to shoulder with men on the blood-stained fields, defying centuries-old conventions. Battalions marched and clashed under her guidance, her presence a beacon challenging antiquated norms and igniting the hopes of many who dreamed of more equitable valor.

The Empire of Granzholm’s Knighthood is a revered institution, divided into nine elite groups, each distinguished by a symbolic color representing unique virtues, strengths, and martial specializations. Leadership within these orders is reserved for only the most exemplary among nobility and warriors, and Regina de Olvestri Vendreich stands as the proud Captain of one of these prestigious groups.

1. Bianca (White): The stalwart defenders, guardians of sacred grounds and pillars of mercy. Their presence inspires hope and sanctuary amidst chaos.

2. Melanie (Black): Masters of stealth, night, and secretive operations. Silent as shadows, they strike unseen and vanish like ghosts.

3. Scarlett (Red): Fierce warriors of unparalleled valor and aggression. Known for their fiery combat style, this order is feared and respected—the crucible of battlefield fury.

4. Azure (Blue): Strategists and masters of long-range combat and siegecraft. Their minds are sharp as their arrows, tacticians of great renown.

5. Coral (Orange): Agile skirmishers and messengers, swift as flames across the battlefield. Their speed and deftness turn the tides of many engagements.

6. Rosalie (Pink): Skilled diplomats and dual agents who balance sword and speech in equal measure. Artful negotiators and cunning spies.

7. Emerald (Green): Guardians of the wildlands and masters of guerilla warfare. Their intimate knowledge of forest and terrain makes them formidable adversaries.

8. Xanthe (Yellow): Commanded by Regina herself, the Xanthe are the brilliant blaze of dawn. Renowned for their exceptional swordsmanship, relentless discipline, and innovative tactics, they blend radiant precision with unfaltering resolve. Their yellow banner shines as a symbol of renewal and unyielding light in the Empire’s darkest hours.

9. Amethyst (Purple): Mystics and scholars, the Amethyst are keepers of ancient knowledge and wielders of arcane arts, balancing wisdom and power to protect the Empire’s spiritual and intellectual heritage.

To ascend to Captaincy—leadership itself—within even one of these revered orders was a feat attainable only by the most illustrious, and none dared imagine a woman ascending so high. Yet Regina shattered this glass ceiling, becoming the youngest Captain of the Xanthe order, is a symbol and a testament to her unparalleled skills and pioneering spirit—leading the dawn’s golden shield forward in both war and honor.

Her leadership was marked not only by tactical brilliance but by keen diplomacy and an unshakable sense of justice. While some viewed her rise with skepticism, her results quelled dissent swiftly—a testament to both her sword and her mind. Legends grew around her name: tales of night raids turned into triumphs, of peace brokered where wars long raged, and of countless lives saved through her decisive actions.

Regina de Olvestri Vendreich remains a living emblem of fierce beauty and indomitable will—an Archduchess who carved her own path through tradition, forging a new dawn for women and warriors alike in the Empire of Granzholm. Her name, etched beside the great captains and sovereigns, promises a legacy unmatched in both blood and strategy.

Regina de Olvestri Vendreich had long carried a simmering disdain for the prattle and posturing endemic to High Society. Unlike many of her noble peers, she neither sought nor enjoyed the society of those ladies whose conversations danced idly on whispered gossip and trivialities. Her affinities were reserved, almost instinctively, for the men—warriors, strategists, and companions whose candor and camaraderie spoke to a kindred spirit forged in the fires of discipline and honor. Among those, she found effortless rapport, earning admiration and curiosity alike from the aristocratic milieu.

Her friendships, while modest and often cloaked in discretion, were bound by unspoken loyalty and shared purpose. None more sacred than that with Archer, a fierce and dedicated comrade-in-arms whose valor on the battlefield was shadowed only by the secrets he carried close.

As fate’s cruel hand wrenched Archer from the mortal plane amid the clashing steel and smoke of war, he entrusted Regina with a charge no less precious than life itself: the care of his illegitimate daughter. A fragile infant, Lillian was cradled not just in arms, but in the promise of protection—even as the child’s mother, Archer’s secret beloved, had been claimed by death in childbirth. To the world beyond their tightly sealed circle, Lillian was simply Regina’s child—no hint of her bloodline whispered in drawing rooms or halls of power. A graceful deception aimed at preserving Archer’s honor, a legacy unblemished by the brutal stain of illegitimacy.

Yet, as with all secrets veiled by shadows, rumors stirred like restless ghosts. Whispers wove through the silken corridors and polishing parlor mirrors—talk of a hidden husband or lover, a phantom shadow lurking behind Regina’s resolute composure. When pressed, she met such murmurings with enigmatic smiles and playful affirmations, teasing the question as a coy mistress might tantalize a wealthy suitor. “When the time is right,” she promised, artful and elusive, “I shall unveil my secret.”

The court buzzed with speculation—what form would this mystery man take? The Emperor himself, amused and intrigued, indulged the growing fascination with the silent chess game Regina played, allowing her tempo in revealing her truth as she wove her own destiny.

In those early years, Lillian was both charm and shield—the living emblem of the enigma that surrounded her mother.

And now, poised in the delicate balance of power and affection, Regina prepared to extend this carefully constructed narrative. To the court and its ever-watchful eyes, Vivian would be presented as their second daughter by this unseen man, a continuation of an elegant ruse born from necessity and ambition. It was a gambit both personal and political; a way to shelter Vivian from suspicion and debt, while binding her fate ever closer to the family Regina swore to protect.

Behind poised smiles and polished grace, Regina’s mind was a forge—crafting not just the destiny of her household, but the very course of whispered history within the Empire of Granzholm. Each secret, each choice, a calculated move in the complex dance she mastered so well.

Vivian’s eyelids fluttered open like fragile petals touched by the dawn’s first light. Before her lay a figure—a girl, pale and delicate, her eyes wide and unblinking, shimmering an ethereal violet, like amethysts catching the faint glow of the chamber’s flickering candlelight. The stillness between them was thick, yet there was something disarming in the gaze that held Vivian’s own.

Suddenly, a firm yet gentle grip tightened around Vivian’s hand — a sensation both foreign and grounding. Though both her hands rested before her, the weight of one hand pressed heavier, undeniable. Turning her gaze downward, she beheld the source: slender fingers intertwined with hers, belonging to the girl who watched her intently.

“Hi,” the girl whispered, her voice lilting yet infused with a hopeful tremor. Vivian’s calm surface masked a growing undercurrent of unease.

The girl shifted gracefully into a seated position, turning sideways upon the sprawling, embroidered mattress. “Um... hello, baby sister,” she said with a tentative, radiant smile. “I am your big sister and my name is Lillian.”

Vivian’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, the moment crashing overwhelming like icy rain upon her fragile heart. A sharp, feral sting swept across her throat, causing her hands to fly instinctively to the battered flesh beneath her chin.

Her mouth parted, lips trembling as if to form words. But no sound escaped. The cruel void where her voice once lived mocked her efforts. Silent tears welled and spilled down her cheeks, wet rivers of despair coursing over her porcelain skin.

Mama...Papa...Where are you? Where am I?

Her thoughts screamed in the void, as helpless as a fledgling lost amid storm-torn skies. The cold draft whispered through the partially open window, the faint scent of rain-dampened stone and blooming lilacs lingering in the chamber’s somber air.

With great effort, Vivian pushed herself up, knees quivering beneath the coverlet. Wracked with silent sobs, she clutched her neck as if to claw away the weight that bound her voice. Desperation twisted her face—lips trembling with futile pleas to the emptiness.

Lillian’s violet eyes widened in primal fear, flashes of confusion rippling across her flushed cheeks and tangled ebony curls. The sight of her sister’s mute agony jolted her into frantic motion—she leapt from the bed, footsteps muffled by thick tapestries as she crashed through the door.

“MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMYYYY!” Lillian’s voice rang out sharp and urgent, echoing through the grand corridor lined with carved oak panels and gilded sconces. Her feet thundered against the gleaming floor as she raced toward safety and reassurance, knots of worry tightening like iron chains around her heart.

Behind her, the shrouded silence of the chamber swallowed Vivian’s quiet weeping—the soundless assault of endless grief and yearning. Her small chest rose and fell in spasms, the weight of loss pressing heavy and cold. The candle’s flame flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls as her tears pooled silently upon the embroidered linens—a silent symphony of sorrow echoing through the vast halls of nobility and loss.

To be Continued...