April 1824,
The courtyard of the baronial mansion bloomed with early spring flowers, a stark contrast to the sombre conversation unfolding between its lady and her daughter.
Cleora stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her posture betraying none of the anxiety that had plagued her since their return from the battlefield two days prior.
Beside her, Nora gazed absently at the garden's central fountain—a relic from more peaceful times depicting the Barony's founder astride a beast.
The young woman's fingers unconsciously traced the outline of her dagger with her name engraved on it.
"What is it that you are thinking?" Cleora asked, noting her daughter's distant expression.
Nora's brow furrowed slightly. "What should we do about that lady?"
No elaboration was needed.
