The Reverie of a Mother

The carriage wheels turned over gravel like whispers on glass.

The gates of House Eisenwald closed behind them with a groan, the heavy iron creaking on its hinges as if reluctant to let the Edelhardt family go. No one spoke as the coach rolled forward, the polished crest of their house etched in silver barely catching the pale light of the fading afternoon. Inside the carriage, silence pressed in, thick and unsettled.

Liora sat with her hands folded neatly on her lap, her gloves still pristine despite the sweat that clung to her palms. Across from her, Michael leaned into the shadows, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the narrow slice of window to his right. Leopold sat stiffly between them, unusually subdued, clutching Mathilde's hand though neither looked at the other. Annalise had her arms crossed and her chin tilted high, a faint frown pulling at her mouth. Only Elias slept, his cheek pressed against Liora's side, breath soft and even.

The incident at the Eisenwald estate still clung to them like smoke.

Liora gently ran a hand over Elias's curls, her gaze distant. The bruising quiet was not just from tiredness. It was something deeper, quieter than anger, heavier than fear. The children were growing used to this unease, and that knowledge twisted inside her.

Outside, the countryside passed by in streaks of green and gold, spring sunlight dimming as the carriage turned toward home. The land blurred, but Liora felt every stone in the road as if the wheels ground against her ribs.

"I didn't hit him," Mathilde mumbled suddenly, her voice small.

No one replied.

Leopold gave her hand a squeeze. "You didn't hurt Elias. That's all that matters."

"He called him a bastard," she whispered.

Liora turned her head. "Did he?"

Mathilde nodded slowly, not meeting her eyes. "And he said Elias doesn't belong in noble clothes."

Annalise let out a soft scoff. "Of course he did. That house is rotted through."

Michael said nothing.

The horses neighed and stamped as they slowed to climb a ridge. The coach rocked slightly, and Elias stirred but did not wake. Liora looked to Michael, studying the rigid line of his shoulders, how his gaze flicked briefly to Mathilde then back to the window.

"You were harsh," Liora said, low.

"She lied," Michael replied.

"She's eight."

"She's Edelhardt," he snapped, then paused, regretting the sharpness. He exhaled through his nose. "We're all expected to wear masks. Even the youngest."

"No one expects her to wear yours," Liora said gently.

The carriage jostled again. Silence fell once more.

Minutes passed. The sun dipped lower. Birds wheeled in the sky above as they crossed a shallow stream, the clatter of hooves muted on wet stone.

"I hate them," Leopold said suddenly, not to anyone in particular. "Those Eisenwald people. They all looked at us like we were... wrong."

"You're not wrong," Liora said. "You're all exactly who you should be."

"And yet they stare," Annalise muttered.

"Let them," Michael said, voice like steel under snow. "We don't need their approval. Only each other."

Liora's heart twisted. It was a beautiful thought, but it wasn't true, not fully. They needed protection. Allies. Power. The world would not stop at disdain. It would press harder, until it could break them or mold them into something unrecognizable.

She glanced down. Elias's hand had found hers in sleep. His fingers curled trustingly around hers.

"I'm sorry I lied," Mathilde said again, barely more than a whisper. "But I didn't want them to think Elias was weak."

Liora blinked against the sting in her eyes.

"I know," she said softly.

And still, she knew the lie would echo.

As they crested the final hill before home, the Edelhardt estate came into view, stone towers bathed in the pink light of evening, gardens quiet, lamps just beginning to flicker to life. The place looked unchanged, but something in them had shifted. The children were watching more closely. Trusting less freely. And Liora felt, for the first time in weeks, truly afraid.

The carriage slowed. The gates opened.

And no one said a word as they passed through.