The Edelline mansion basked in sunlight that streamed through the grand windows lining the upper floors. The light danced across the intricately designed marble floors and reflected off the crystals of the ornate chandeliers, casting a warm glow throughout the rooms.
Diana Ardelaine, Duchess of Edelline, moved gracefully down the corridor like a fine lady of old. Her green velvet gown trailed behind her in a cascade of silk, its rich texture catching the light. The diamonds adorning her neck shimmered with a subtle blue hue, their elegance understated yet unmistakable, enhanced by the intricate craftsmanship of her jewelry.
Diana really wondered, how she missed her husband this much despite it only being two years. Perhaps it was fear, her once innocent and cute husband who was called to the land of the battlefield. Every day she prayed for that man to remain unscathed. She prayed for the letter of the fallen never to reach her like other ladies.
The Duke of Edelline had left for the northern front mere weeks after their wedding. The invasion by the kingdom alliance had thrown the empire into chaos, with the vulnerable northern provinces demanding immediate action. Left behind, Diana had shouldered the weight of the household, the estate, and the people under their care.
Yet, she had never faltered. If her husband fought for the empire, she would fight for the home he would one day return to. The path had been grueling—learning everything from scratch in a world that demanded perfection. But the thought of his warm laughter and the love that once filled his eyes made her pause, her heart heavy with a question that lingered unspoken: Would he be happy to see her again?
At the landing of the grand staircase, Diana paused, her gaze drifting to the estate gardens beyond the tall windows. The vibrant blooms of the season painted a breathtaking scene, the smile softened her features.
"I wonder if he remembers," she murmured, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
Her thoughts wandered back to their childhood. The Edelline estate had been their sanctuary, the witness to countless shared moments. She could still hear his boyish laughter echoing through the ancient oaks and see the carefree smile he wore as they raced to the swing. Those memories, so vivid, felt like fragments of a different lifetime.
*****
"Catch me if you can, Diana!" His young voice rang out, high-pitched and teasing. A much younger Diana chased after him, her hair in loose braids, her small legs pumping with fierce determination.
"You promised we'd go to the library after this!" she huffed, struggling to keep pace. "You said you'd help me find the book about constellations!"
The boy, taller and faster, slowed just enough to glance back, his golden hair catching the sunlight. He grinned, unrepentant. "I never said when! Besides, you need the practice. What if you're ever in danger?"
Diana stopped abruptly, hands on her hips as she shot him a glare. "If you keep running, I'll tell your mother you climbed the apple tree again."
He froze, spinning around dramatically. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," she said, lifting her chin.
With a defeated sigh, he trudged back toward her, his steps exaggerated. "Fine, fine. To the library we go, my lady," he said, bowing theatrically. Her laughter bubbled forth, despite her best efforts to stay stern. "But only because I fear your wrath," he added with a wink.
*****
Diana's hand lingered on the cold marble banister as the memory faded. She missed him—the boy who had become her husband, the man who had left before they could truly begin their life together. Would the war change him? Would he still see her as the girl he once raced through the gardens with, or as the stranger she feared she might become?
A discreet cough interrupted her thoughts. Turning, she saw the butler—a kind, elderly man who had served the Edelline family faithfully for decades.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing, "a merchant representative has arrived. He seeks permission to trade at the eastern port."
Diana's serene expression didn't waver. "I will see him in the drawing room," she replied.
The merchant, a stout man clutching a worn satchel, stood nervously as Diana entered. His forehead glistened, whether, from the heat or the weight of his task, she couldn't tell.
"Your Grace," he began, voice trembling, "thank you for granting me an audience. I come to humbly request a reconsideration of the increased port taxes. The current rates are... quite burdensome for traders like myself."
Diana listened, her face unreadable. When he finished, her calm voice cut through the air like a blade.
"The tax increase funds enhanced security measures," she explained. "Surely, you understand the necessity of protecting your goods. Without them, the risk of piracy and loss would be far greater."
The merchant fidgeted, attempting to counter her point, but Diana swiftly interjected with a serene smile. "If the eastern port is unsuitable, you may route your goods through the southern port instead."
"The southern port?" he echoed, blinking.
"Indeed," Diana said. "However, I must warn you—the southern route is warmer, and goods like cheese or wine may not fare well. Your clients would not appreciate spoiled cargo, I assume."
By the time their negotiation ended, the merchant left defeated yet humbled, murmuring as he exited, "No wonder they call her the Witch of the East."
Diana's lips curved into a faint smirk. She had earned that title, not through cruelty, but through competence. While her husband defended the empire, she rebuilt their duchy from the ground up, transforming it into a thriving haven.
"Your Grace," the butler reappeared, bowing. "Shall I prepare tea in the garden?"
"Yes, please," Diana replied softly.
As she strolled into the garden, the golden hues of autumn surrounded her. Her gaze lingered on the fallen leaves, their quiet beauty reflecting her solitude. She read the latest letter from Julian, smiling at his stories of mischief in the barracks.
The letters were her lifeline, bringing her glimpses of the man she loved. Julian's words painted vivid pictures of his life on the battlefield—his moments of laughter with comrades, the biting cold of the northern front, and the rare moments of peace beneath the stars.
One particular letter had made her laugh out loud. He had recounted a comical incident where a stray chicken had wandered into the barracks, causing chaos among the soldiers. "Even the fiercest warrior retreats before the wrath of a clucking hen," he had written, and she could almost hear the amusement in his voice.
But as she sipped her tea, the laughter faded, replaced by a familiar ache. Would Julian still see her as the woman he had married? Would he appreciate the life she had fought so hard to preserve? Or would the scars of war create a chasm between them, one too wide to bridge?
The gardens, once her sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Each petal, each stone, each carefully tended shrub seemed to echo the same question: How much longer would she have to wait?
Diana set down her teacup, her gaze hardening. No matter how long the wait, she would endure. For the sake of her people, for the memory of their shared laughter, and for the hope that one day, Julian would return to the home she had kept alive for him.
For now, she would wait. But when the time came, she would ensure Julian returned to a home worthy of the love they once shared—a home that stood strong, even in his absence. Afterall, she promise to wait and protect the place he loved.