Beyond the Manor's Walls

I was the true heir of Blackwood Manor, lost for forty years.
When the Blackwood family finally found me, I already had three children.
The day I returned, my father, Duke Alistair Blackwood, warned me:
You've lived a simple life, untaught in proper society. To outsiders, I will introduce you as an adopted daughter of Blackwood Manor.
"As for that crude country husband of yours, and those… wild children, they must never show their faces. It would disgrace the family."
My brother, Lord Arthur, also stood protectively in front of the adopted daughter.
"I have only one sister, Lydia."
"Don't even think about trying to win favor from her."
I looked at them, a flicker of amusement in my eyes.
"Crude country husband?"
Were they referring to my husband, Chancellor Marcus Ashworth, a man second only to the King himself?
And "wild children"?
Were they speaking of my daughter, Queen Amara?
Or my eldest son, General Kael Ashworth, Hero of the Realm?
Perhaps my youngest, the newly crowned King's Scholar, Elias Ashworth?

1
The day the Blackwood Manor steward brought me back, I finally met my biological father, Duke Alistair Blackwood.
He sat at the head of the table, a teacup in hand, his gaze sweeping over me with a critical, almost disdainful air. It was as if he were examining a dusty antique, dug up from some forgotten corner.
"Rosalind, you've been away for forty years. You must have suffered."
He took a sip of his tea, his tone flat, devoid of any hint of emotion at our long-awaited reunion. "Your mother has gone to the abbey for prayers. She'll see you later."
I remained silent.
He didn't seem to notice or care, continuing as if I weren't even there. "Lydia has grown up in this manor. She is now Lady Ashworth, refined and accomplished, the very face of our family. Your return has naturally caused her some anxiety."
He paused, then went on. "For the peace of this house, and for the harmony between you and your sister, she will remain known as the true daughter of Blackwood Manor."
He took another sip. "You, on the other hand, will be registered as an adopted daughter under your mother's name. It will be enough to acknowledge our connection as father and daughter."
I watched him calmly. At my age, I understood the unspoken words, the dismissal beneath his polite veneer. He was ashamed of me, warning me away, and cementing Lydia's position. My mother, whom I had yet to meet, had even conveniently arranged to be absent on the day of my return. Clearly, she wasn't eager to see me either.
I shifted my gaze, a faint smile playing on my lips, and nodded. "Alright."
Alistair seemed taken aback by my easy agreement. All the carefully prepared arguments he had ready were caught in his throat.
Lord Arthur, my brother, standing beside him, couldn't contain himself. He took a hasty step forward, pointing an accusing finger at me. "Don't think your quick agreement means you have good intentions!" he snarled. "I'm warning you, my sister Lydia is a kind and gentle soul. She has prayed and sacrificed countless times over the years, all to find you. You are back now. Do not dare to bully her!"
I looked at this blood relation, his eyes brimming with fierce loyalty for his "sister," while mine were filled with suspicion and hostility.
"Oh," I replied.
That single, quiet "oh" seemed to ignite their anger further.
Alistair slammed his teacup onto the table with a dull thud, his eyes turning cold. "There is one more thing you must agree to." He leaned forward, his voice dropping. "That husband of yours… that crude country bumpkin, and those… wild children. You are not to bring them anywhere near this manor."
"Blackwood Manor is a noble family. We will not be disgraced by such common folk."

2
As he spoke, the disgust in his eyes was almost palpable.
I finally met his gaze, my own calm and steady, and spoke slowly. "The Duke is right."
"A country husband is certainly crude, and wild children are rambunctious. They would indeed be out of place here. My apologies for the oversight."
I saw a flicker of contempt in Alistair's eyes. Lord Arthur, beside him, made no effort to hide his scorn, a mocking smile twisting his lips.
In their minds, my ready compliance was undeniable proof: a country bumpkin, desperate to cling to power and wealth, willing to abandon everything for a taste of luxury. They were pleased with my "discretion."
Alistair waved a dismissive hand, as if shooing away a troublesome servant. "Very well. You may go now. The steward will show you to a quiet courtyard. Your mother will come to see you later."
I turned, without a single backward glance.
As I stepped out of the study, I immediately bumped into the woman who had lived my life for forty years, Lydia Blackwood. She was resplendent in fine silks and glimmering jewels. She rushed forward, grasping my hands, her eyes wide and red-rimmed with feigned concern.
"Sister, please don't be angry with Father and Arthur. They only wish to protect the family's reputation. You've just returned from the countryside, and there are many customs to learn. I will help you."
She played the part of a loving sister, as if my supposed humiliation pained her more than it did me.
I gently withdrew my hands and said nothing.
Undeterred, she softly added, "Oh, and Sister, in a few days, it will be Father's sixtieth birthday. Many distinguished guests from the capital will attend, so we must ensure everything is perfect."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice, but a triumphant glint in her eyes betrayed her. "Don't worry, Sister, I'll have a suitable dress prepared for you. Just… perhaps it would be best if you spoke little that day. Just to avoid… embarrassing the family."
I met her gaze, noting the barely concealed smugness, and smiled.
Lydia’s hypocrisy was so blatant, only the Blackwood family, blind with self-importance, could fail to see it.

3
When the steward led me to the most secluded courtyard in Blackwood Manor, I barely spared a glance for the overgrown weeds and cobwebs in the corners. It was quiet, and that suited me just fine, as I wouldn't be staying long anyway. I had just settled down when Lydia arrived, accompanied by two maids.
She carried a pile of her old, worn-out clothes and a few tarnished, inexpensive trinkets, presenting them with an air of solicitous kindness.
"Sister, you've just returned from the countryside. I imagine you're unaccustomed to the silks and satins of the manor. I've chosen these for you; the fabric is softer, so you can ease into them." Her voice dripped with ill-concealed superiority. "These trinkets aren't valuable, of course, but they're perfectly presentable for common outings. Please, don't feel ashamed to wear them."
She expected to see me overwhelmed with gratitude, or perhaps cringing with shame. Instead, I calmly picked up a garment, shook off the dust, and folded it neatly.
"Thank you, Sister."
My indifferent reaction momentarily startled her. Then, any lingering trace of caution vanished, replaced by a knowing condescension. In her eyes, I was merely an unworldly countrywoman, easily swayed by scraps and grateful for any mercy. She smiled, satisfied, believing she had firmly established her dominance.
"I'm glad you like them, Sister. I won't disturb your rest any further."
Lydia had barely left when Lady Blackwood, my biological mother, arrived. She glanced around the dilapidated courtyard, then at me, her expression perfunctory. "You've suffered much during your time in the countryside."
Behind her stood two imposing matrons, their gazes assessing me as if I were a piece of merchandise to be valued—cold and detached.
"In three days, it will be the Dowager Duchess's eightieth birthday. Guests from all the prominent families in the capital will be here." My mother’s voice held no warmth whatsoever. "Your father has decided to introduce you as an adopted daughter at the banquet. This is a great fortune for you. You must learn to appreciate it."
I nodded, again saying nothing.
She seemed pleased by my "obedience" and nodded to one of the matrons behind her. The woman immediately stepped forward and tossed a wrapped bundle onto the table.
"This is for you. Wear this to the banquet." She spoke with a condescending air of command, not a suggestion.
The bundle contained a dress. It was an old-fashioned, dull rust-red, at least a decade out of style. The fabric was coarse, the kind even the lowest servants in the manor might disdain.
"As a daughter of Blackwood Manor, even an adopted one, your every word and action reflects on our family's reputation," she continued, her voice sharp. "And that wretched thing on your wrist? Take it off before the banquet. It's not fit for display." She cast a disgusted glance at my jade bangle. "There will be many eyes and ears that day. You would do well to be modest, speak little, and avoid making a fool of yourself and embarrassing the entire manor."
With that, she turned and left, as if another moment in my presence would soil her shoes.
I looked at the bangle on my wrist. It was a flawless emerald-green jade, exquisitely crafted and shimmering with life. Blackwood Manor, in their arrogance, assumed it was a cheap trinket from the countryside. They had no idea that this single bangle could buy their entire estate ten times over.
I casually tossed the offensive dress back onto the table, a private, knowing smile playing on my lips.
The Dowager Duchess's birthday banquet?
It was high time my three children came to liven things up.

4
Blackwood Manor was a whirlwind of activity, frantically preparing for the Dowager Duchess’s birthday banquet. My courtyard, the Sunset Garden, remained an oasis of calm; no one remembered there was anyone living there.
I reveled in the peace, then sought out a young, unfamiliar stable boy who had helped carry my luggage. I slipped him a heavy silver coin. His eyes widened, and he stammered, asking what my command was.
"Deliver a letter for me."
Back in my room, I unfolded a rough piece of parchment on the dusty table and picked up a brush. I wrote only four words:
"All well, do not worry."
No signature, no return address.
I folded the letter, slipped it into the plainest envelope I could find, and handed it to the stable boy. I simply told him to take it to "The Lucky Coin" general store in the South Quarter and give it to the shopkeeper.
The stable boy, clutching the silver and the letter, departed whistling happily.
With that done, I had nothing left to do. I pulled a chair into the courtyard and watched the tenacious wild grass growing in the cracks of the wall, unattended but thriving. I found it quite interesting.
Occasionally, Lydia would "kindly" pass by my courtyard gate, casting a pitying, triumphant glance my way before shaking her head and sighing as she walked off. She likely imagined I was mesmerized by the manor’s wealth, yet tormented by my inability to fit in, left to languish in this dilapidated garden, consumed by self-pity.
In her eyes, I was a pathetic, tragic figure.
But she didn't understand.
I wasn't pitying myself. I was simply waiting. The letter was sent. The people I was waiting for would arrive soon.
That night, I dreamt. I was back in our little cottage in the village. My husband sat by the lamp, reading. My eldest daughter massaged my shoulders. My eldest son polished his long rifle in the yard. Even my youngest, usually so restless, helped me sort medicinal herbs.
A family, content and together.
I jolted awake, the moonlight cold through the window. A sudden wave of longing washed over me. I missed them. I wondered if they had received my letter.

5
Soon, the day of the banquet arrived.
I was seated in the most inconspicuous corner, at a table with only a dish of stale peanuts and a pot of lukewarm tea. Lydia, shimmering in an extravagant cloud-brocade gown, flitted through the crowd, basking in admiration and flattery. Her laughter was light and melodious, her every glance perfectly calibrated for grace and nobility.
After several rounds of wine, Duke Alistair Blackwood rose, cup in hand, his face flushed with good cheer. He cleared his throat, and the hall fell silent.
He began with polite platitudes, thanking everyone for attending. Then, his gaze casually drifted to my corner.
"There is one more matter I wish to announce today," he declared, his voice booming, carrying an air of charitable condescension. "This is Rosalind, an… adopted daughter of Blackwood Manor."
The word "adopted" caused a ripple of murmuring throughout the hall. I heard the noblewomen at the next table whispering.
"An adopted daughter, you say? I knew it! The true daughter of Blackwood Manor wouldn't dress like a common countrywoman!"
"Shh, lower your voice. She's still recognized by the Duke. We must show some respect to the family."
Lydia stood beside Lady Blackwood, a barely perceptible smirk playing on her lips, her eyes filled with silent mockery directed at me. I calmly took a sip of my bitter, cleansing tea.
Alistair seemed displeased by my composure. He frowned, then dismissed me from his thoughts, turning to introduce Lydia with words brimming with pride and affection.
Soon, it was time for the guests to present their gifts to the Dowager Duchess. Lydia, as the Blackwood family's most cherished jewel, was naturally the first. She held a delicate silk box, her steps graceful, poised to accept the admiration of the crowd…
Just then, a clear, ringing voice announced:
"Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Amara, arrives!"
Everyone gasped.
In an instant, led by Duke Alistair, the entire assembly of nobles and dignitaries dropped to their knees, their voices echoing, "Hail, Your Majesty the Queen! Long live the Queen!"
I did not kneel.
Firstly, the small table in front of me offered no room. Secondly, I saw no reason to.
In the deathly silence that followed, Queen Amara, radiant in her royal regalia, entered, surrounded by palace guards. Her gaze was fixed forward. She did not look at Duke Alistair or Lydia, who knelt closest to the entrance. Instead, she walked directly through the sea of bowed heads, straight to my humble corner. She stopped three paces before me.
Then, to the disbelief of every person in the hall, she performed a deep, formal curtsy, a gesture of profound respect.
"Your daughter greets you, Mother."

6
The hall was utterly, completely silent.
Alistair's face, flushed with pride moments before, turned bone-white. His lips trembled, unable to form a single word. Beside him, Lydia's face was ashen, her eyes wide with absolute disbelief.
Queen Amara paid them no mind. She stepped forward, affectionately taking my hand. She leaned in, her voice a low murmur meant only for my ears. "Mother, you have been wronged."
Throughout it all, she never once glanced at Duke Alistair or Lydia, who were still kneeling on the floor.
I patted her hand, a silent assurance that I was fine.
Only then did she turn to the assembly, her voice cool and clear. "You may all rise."
As if granted a reprieve from death, everyone shakily rose to their feet. But no one dared to sit again, standing with bowed heads, too terrified to even breathe loudly.
A chief palace attendant stepped forward, holding a large, golden-yellow silk cloth covering a magnificent rosewood tray. Queen Amara herself unveiled it.
A collective gasp swept through the guests.
On the tray, stood a coral tree, nearly three feet tall, a vibrant, luminous blood-red. Dangling from its branches were twelve East Sea pearls, each the size of a pigeon's egg. Its value alone could likely purchase half of Blackwood Manor.
Everyone assumed it was a birthday gift for the Dowager Duchess. Alistair took a half-step forward, about to voice his gratitude.
But Queen Amara didn't spare him a glance. She personally took the coral tree and presented it to me.
"Mother," she said, her smile as gentle and respectful as it was when we were alone in our home. "This is a birthday gift from His Majesty and myself, for you. I know you dislike extravagance, but this symbolizes long life and enduring fortune. I pray you will not scorn it."
Another wave of stunned silence.
A birthday gift… for me?
If so, what was this lavish banquet the Blackwood family had so grandly organized for the Dowager Duchess?
But an even more crushing blow was yet to come.
Queen Amara turned slightly, addressing the direction where the Dowager Duchess sat, her voice clear and resonant.
"And, in passing, a birthday blessing for my grandmother."

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