Voices echoed off the stone walls of a Count's study decorated with fine rugs and large tapestries. Each piece of furniture was crafted from naturally grey wood and ornately carved by the finest craftsmen.
For Count Mikael von Burien, there was no luxury too extravagant while his oldest daughter wore shabby clothing and sat on the floor like a beggar.
"Father, please!" Leonor cried from where she sat at the Count's feet. "Anyone but him. I'll do anything–"
Her words were cut off when a sob fell from her lips. The bitter pain of being entirely ignored was familiar to her. She never knew what it was like to be truly heard.
"Then who?" Count Mikael von Burien questioned, his loud voice piercing Leonor's aching head. "As the oldest, this is your one duty. You were born for this role."
"I did everything you told me to fulfill my role as the heiress of von Burien," she persisted. "You promised!"
Years of studying at the Magic Academy had gone to waste. She put her mind and body through impossible tasks to fulfill the demands of the Count. Yet when a Duke called upon her family, she was offered first as if she had no value to the von Burien name.
Even at that moment, Leonor's head throbbed from mana depletion. She pushed herself too hard in her studies that day, trying to measure up to expectations she was unaware she could never uphold.
"I promised to do whatever I saw fit," he spat. "Anna is far too fragile to be married if that's what you're implying."
Leonor was tempted to hug her father's legs as she begged, but he found her touch repulsive. She knew it would only anger him further. He hadn't hit her in ages but the way his face was turning red reminded her of the times before he harshly disciplined her.
Despite all the times he attempted to throw water on her internal fire, Leonor found a spark left over.
"I am unprepared for this," she continued, trying to use a gentler voice as her sister, Anna, often did. "I trained in magic to protect our legacy while my dear sister stayed behind and practiced etiquette. She was groomed to be a wife I'm not–"
The Count stood up and stalked towards the window of his study, unable to look at the pathetic sight of his daughter anymore. In his eyes, everything she did was a disappointment. When he received a letter asking for her hand, he was pleased to change his heir.
"That's enough!" he shouted, effectively silencing Leonor. "You talk about your strength. Show us how strong you are by surviving that dastardly creature his majesty calls Duke!" The Count sneered at the window pane and muttered, "The nightmare of having two daughters."
Leonor's lips pressed together and she had to look away. Her mother, the only person who ever cared for her, lost to complications of pregnancy. Despite showing many signs she was past childbearing years, the Count insisted they keep trying for a son.
His Majesty, King Stephano II, was the culprit for the Count's hatred of daughters. After a brutal war in the north, the old tyrannical king insisted a family wouldn't survive with a lack of sons to protect them.
Leonor took a deep breath.
"I'm terrified–"
Her final attempt was entirely ignored when her father snapped.
"Get out of my sight!" he shouted, causing his light brown hair to fall into his face, but he deftly swiped it back. "Send the messenger back inside."
He ordered her around like she was a housemaid. It was a treatment she was conditioned to accept for her entire 21 years of life. Any attempts to fight back always had dire repercussions. She silently did as she was told.
Leonor was shaking as she got to her feet. Her mana depletion and the terrifying realization that the future she created for herself was crashing down around her. With sapphire eyes blurry with unshed tears, she slowly walked to the door and found the messenger in a sitting room with tea beside him.
The lady felt relief that he had been taken care of and she managed to hide evidence of her impending tears. If her father's temper was volatile, she couldn't imagine how someone associated with the Duke or the Duke himself must behave. The best way to handle powerful men was to pacify them at any cost.
"My father would like to see you again, sir," Leonor managed, hoping her voice wasn't wavering even though she felt dizzy.
"Thank you, my lady," the man began to speak and Leonor flinched.
She curtsied with her head bowed to avoid his sharp gaze, though she missed his look of sympathy. Her trust in others was practically nonexistent and she couldn't imagine such a finely dressed old messenger would be kind. With his grey hair tucked into a low ponytail and glasses perched on his nose, he was just the type of man she avoided.
"Please, excuse me," she uttered and quickly escaped, grabbing the wall when she went down another hallway so she wouldn't stumble.
The young mage finally made it to her bedroom. It was the only place she had solace in the entire manor. While it wasn't the most extravagant room, it had shelves full of books she loved and a comfortable bed.
However, she didn't even make it to her bed before she collapsed on the worn rug at the center of her room. She covered her face as tears came forth and she tried to muffle her sobs so no one would hear them and report back to her father.
A sharp knock was heard at Leonor's door and she gasped. If it were her father, he would be infuriated by her pathetic appearance. Even though it hurt her head to stand so quickly, she gathered herself and went forward.
Upon opening the door, relief washed over Leonor when her maid, Francia appeared before her with a look of concern on her face.
"My lady, the other maids heard shouting…"
At the appearance of the lady she served, Francia rushed forward and stabilized Leonor. Her actions were practiced - a result of the years she had cleaned up the mess left by the Count whenever he was upset at his eldest daughter.
The dutiful maid brought the young lady to her bed and laid her down, pulling off her shoes so she could get comfortable on top of the soft blankets. Even though they weren't the finest in the manor, Francia was always sure they were clean for the lady.
"Stay here, my dear," Francia said, using a quiet voice so no one could hear the name she called Leonor when she was feeling particularly awful for her. "I will retrieve a potion to restore your mana."
Leonor wanted to call out and tell her she didn't have to bother, but her voice didn't come out and she started to drift off. The comfort of her bed was too much for her to resist.
The young mage didn't know how much time had passed until she woke up to the feeling of Francia dripping a potion into her mouth. She tried to sit up, feeling unsettled that she was being fed in her sleep.
Francia shushed Leonor and she obediently drank down the potion.
Only then did she realize evening had set in and darkness was cast across her room save for a small candle lit on her bedside, likely brought by the maid. She was touched, knowing Francia likely had to go far to retrieve the mana-restoring potion.
As Leonor's blue eyes landed on Francia's face, she wasn't expecting to be met with such a grim expression.
"Francia?" Leonor asked. "What is it?"
"Your father can't do this to you," Francia breathed, barely keeping herself together. "Sweet Leonor, why does it have to be that horrible Duke?"
Leonor shook her head, seeing the one person on her side moved to such emotion because of what she was going through swelled her heart. The relief was short-lived as the next words left Francia's mouth.
"The Duke has already arrived in Coeurvalle," Francia said. "In only two days I will no longer see you anymore."
Leonor put a hand over her mouth when she could no longer hold back her shock.
No words needed to be said as Francia hugged the young woman.
To Leonor, Francia was the only silver lining in her life.
Many times before, silver linings never lasted long for the eldest daughter in the manor of Count von Burien.
She tugged at the gold locket she always wore, thinking of past times when her life changed for the worst.