Chapter 411: The Duchess Waits
The Duchess Waits
Nova was the only person in the Blackthorn mansion courtyard. The stone she walked on was cold with the remaining nip of morning, but she did not notice. Her gaze—cool, green, unyielding—was directed at the sky overhead. Wind stirred her black hair, pulled high in a smooth ponytail, and every strand gleamed as it danced behind her like a warrior’s standard.
Behind her, the courtyard pulsed with silent tension. Guards stood at attention, straight backs, watchful eyes. The moment their lady had emerged from the mansion, all men had stiffened into watchfulness, anticipating her word. Even the perimeter guards had stopped in their tracks, turning to face on their heels and stand at stiff attention. Their eyes never left Nova, as if her presence alone commanded compliance.
They dared not question why their mistress had picked this location, gazing so fixedly up at the sky. They dared not wonder out loud. But their quiet did have weight, an odd curiosity woven under their obedience. Why here? Why now?
A guard glanced up, tracing the unseen path of her vision. He had seen nothing—only the white sky, the crepuscular flow of clouds—but even that had been sufficient to make him nervous. Lady Nova was never still. If her eyes were focused there, there had to be a purpose.
And there was.
She had been making herself ready in her rooms for breakfast early yesterday morning, her mind calm, her body moving through habit. She had dressed herself with her customary exactitude: golden blouse buttoned tidily to her body, black slacks molding themselves with quiet authority to her legs. The memory of last evening hung at the back of her mind—how Lord Leon had passed his evening with Lady Cassidy. He had told all of his wives in advance, as was his custom, never concealing, never lying. They had met after, talked quietly into the night hours, and later gone to their individual rooms. Nova had taken it in stride. That was the pace of their lives.
But just as she’d been going to go out for breakfast, she’d felt a voice whisper against her mind—deep, warm, authoritative.
"Nova."
She hadn’t twitched. Leon’s telepathic caress was one she was accustomed to.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Two visitors will be coming today—Lady Natasha and Lady Sona. Go and greet them. Ensure that they are well received."
The straightforwardness of the command had contained a heaviness far greater than its meaning. For him to have put that responsibility on her shoulder, when he could have delegated it to anyone else... it counted. She had lowered her head in silence, even though he couldn’t see it from behind the link.
"As you order."
And now she stood here, eyes on the clouds, waiting.
The guards did not know. They could not know. They saw only their lady’s fierce look never wavering from the heavens, her sharp jaw set with resolute determination. To them, it seemed she was gazing at the sky itself for a signal.
Minutes ticked by in thick silence. Then without warning, the air changed.
A ripple ran across the clouds above, as if the sky itself had been rent asunder. The guards shifted, their training breaking for an instant.
"Look!" one of them breathed, then caught himself.
Out of the rent in the clouds came something—a pale blue light, round and beating like a living bubble. Slowly, surely, it drifted down, dropping with deliberate slowness.
The courtyard burst into muted chaos. Eyes went wide, hands clamped tighter on spear shafts and sword hilts. A captain near the front took a step forward, face hardening, his voice slicing through the tension.
"My lady! Move back! We need to engage the defensive formation!"
The other guards stepped into instant motion at his word, foot scrapes on stone as they moved into positions of long practice. Shields at an angle, weapons at the ready. The formation of Blackthorn’s finest defense took shape, power thrumming quietly at their summons.
But not before Nova’s hand could rise. A single, graceful, slow-moving gesture.
And then her voice, level and tranquil, but conveying the weight of command that did not tolerate defiance.
"Stand down."
The captain halted in mid-step.
"But, my lady—"
Nova did not take her gaze off the glowing bubble as it descended. Her green irises mirrored the sheen of the bubble as it moved closer.
"Relax," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for debate. "This is no enemy. They are friends."
The air froze again. The guards hesitated and gave her questioning looks, but none would move against her word. Their hold relaxed, shields dropping a little. The formation broke before it was fully formed.
The captain swallowed, sheathing his sword hesitantly.
"If you are sure, my lady..."
"I am."
That was all it took. The silence reasserted itself.
The guards went back to their posts, but their bodies were tense, their eyes darting nervously from the odd bubble to their mistress. Their training was strong, but the curiosity was not to be concealed.
One of the younger men, positioned at the lip of the courtyard, growled under his breath, almost too quietly for anyone to catch.
"Friends... then why conceal themselves in such an odd thing?"
Nova listened to him. She always listened to them. But she did not reply. Some truths were not theirs to possess.
The bubble came down, a peculiar thrum resonating through the air as it settled onto the lawn. As soon as it landed, the ground seemed to undulate—grasses bending as if stroked by an imperceptible current. A tiny wave spread outward, disturbing the air with subtle force before dissipating.
The guards stiffened once more, but Nova’s face didn’t change. She stood stock-still, her hands behind her back in a loose fold, her chin lifted in unwavering confidence.
And then, as if to acknowledge it had come home at last, the bubble started to disintegrate. The bluish-white shimmer uncoiled, dissolving strand by strand until only two people stood shoulder to shoulder on the courtyard grass.
Gasps rose from the guards.
Two women—beautiful, resplendent, strange to them. Their loveliness was incontestable, yet beauty was not the sole thing that disturbed the soldiers. There was presence, power, dignity written in their very carriage. One, with silver hair regal as a crown and piercing blue eyes, the other with dark hair that framed sharply defined features.
Confusion ran through the ranks for an instant within the courtyard. Who were these women? Friends? Enemies? Strangers?
Nova permitted the quiet to hang in the air for a single heartbeat longer. Then, finally, she smiled. It wasn’t broad, nor was it gentle—it was modulated, measured, a fleeting warmth on her otherwise stern face.
"Welcome, Lady Natasha. Lady Sona."
Her voice traveled across the courtyard, as smooth as silk but with the edge of steel to it.
The two women shifted their focus to her, and at that moment, the courtyard was no longer the guards’, nor even the mansion’s. It was the domain of the intersection of three women—each with power, beauty, and connections to one man.
The soldiers lowered their heads, more because of habit than order. They had never witnessed their lady smile so thoroughly.