The ride to the Yuwen Family estate passed in a blur, the city slipping away behind us as we left the church's looming shadow for the noble district. The whole place felt like a world apart, perched on its own island and wrapped in cliffs that kept the rest of the capital at bay. Only a single bridge connected it to the city, and even our four horses seemed to struggle with the climb, their breaths misting in the hot summer air. We joined a slow procession of carriages at the bridge, waiting our turn, the minutes stretching out as if the island itself was reluctant to let us in.
By the time we finally crossed the bridge, it felt as if the day had grown older without us. The noble district opened up before us, all manicured gardens and sprawling courtyards, each estate trying to outshine the next. Far off, the Royal Palace rose above it all, its towers reaching for the sky but still falling short of the church's cold, watchful heights. Here, space was precious, and every stone seemed to whisper of old money and silent rivalries. Some families had so many rooms they never bothered to fill them, letting empty halls echo with the ghosts of their pride. It was so bad that some of the proud barons and viscounts had to live in the upper city.
The Yuwen estate didn't try to be the grandest, but it stood with quiet confidence among the ducal houses. Its U-shaped arms seemed to welcome us in, three stories of tall windows catching the pale light. The walls were a warm beige sandstone, not the native white limestone one saw in the lower city, with the roof tiled with black slate. The front garden was simple, just a handful of rose bushes clinging to the edges of a wide manicured green lawn, their petals trembling in the breeze. A neat gravel path cut through the grass, leading us toward the entrance and whatever waited inside.
Everyone else waited for us beneath the estate’s grand portico—everyone except Anna, which wasn't too surprising, and the two smallest girls, Maggie and Fiona, who dashed wildly after a massive, shaggy dog across the emerald lawn. The animal towered over the laughing five-year-olds, a living mountain of fur, but the adults stood unconcerned, watching with mild amusement. As we approached the entrance, our carriage wheeled in a smooth arc and stopped. Janus swung the carriage door open and, with polished grace, offered his hand to help me down.
Climbing down from the carriage, I felt every gaze settle on me, searching for any hint of trouble. Their concern was kind, but it made my skin prickle with awkwardness. Emma was the first to break away, her steps quick and sure as she came to meet us.
“Are you alright, my lady?”
“Yes, I'm alright. They just wanted to talk.”
Relief rippled through the group, the tension melting away all at once. With the worst behind me, I finally noticed the unfamiliar faces that made up the backbone of the Yuwen estate. The head butler, Stefan, was so tall and thin he looked like a ghost in a suit—beanpole was the only word that fit. The head maid was round, with all soft edges and gentle smiles, surrounded by a flock of younger maids in spotless uniforms. The cook looked like he could wrestle a boar, his arms thick with muscle and his stare sharp as a cleaver. Nearby, a gardener dusted with earth chatted with the stable boys, who were already leading our horses away.
And standing beside Maya, who already had her nose in a new book, was,
“Ah, you must be Ruby. I am Martha’s husband—the great Zayr Nisa Al-Tajir. But for a vision as enchanting as you, please, call me only Zayr.”
The great Zayr Nisa Al-Tajir was, if I’m honest, not all that great. He caught my hand with a practiced ease, pressing a kiss to my knuckles before I could even react. Janus’s frown was immediate and almost comical. Zayr barely reached my shoulder, though his bright red turban and those ridiculous, pointed high-heeled shoes tried to make up the difference. His skin was a warm hazelnut, a sharp contrast to my own pale, sickly white, and his eyes were as black as midnight, rimmed with kohl. His tunic was a riot of red and gold waves, loud enough to make Janus look plain. But it was his perfume that truly lingered—thick with incense and licorice, it clung to the air long after he let go of my hand, as if he wanted to leave a piece of himself behind.
“Just ignore him, he is always like this, and he knows better than to upset my sister, speaking of which, where is Martha?”
“Ah, Martha—the oasis that quenches my longing soul—is tragically absent. She’s handling some business with one of our shops in the upper city. But if the gods are kind, she will return to us before sunset, and perhaps my heart might beat a little steadier again.”
I couldn’t help but wonder, not for the first time, if anyone in this family could be called normal.
“But truly, a lady as radiant as you deserves warmth, not this chill. Will you honor me by coming inside? I have brought tea from my latest voyage just for such a captivating guest.”
