The dining hall of House d'Aramont was a shadow of what it once must have been. Its high-vaulted ceiling bore faint traces of gilded trim, now dulled by smoke and time. Torn tapestries still hung in places of honor. Candles sputtered in iron sconces. Yet despite the visible decay, warmth lingered—not just from the hearth fire, but from the people gathered around the table.
Élaina sat stiffly between Lady Séraphine and little Aveline, unsure whether to keep her hands in her lap or rest them on the tablecloth. Her travel-worn clothes had been brushed off and her hair quickly tied back by a maid, but she still felt out of place, like a misplaced chess piece on a board she barely understood.
"I do hope the stew is to your liking," Duchess Isabeau said gently from across the table, lading another helping into Aveline's bowl. "The meat is wild-caught, but it's seasoned as well as we could manage."
"It's wonderful," Élaina said truthfully. The warmth of the meal chased away the chill from her bones. "You didn't have to go through this trouble. I—I'm grateful."
"It is no trouble," Duke Mathieu rumbled. "Our family does not turn away those in need. Least of all when fate brings them to our doorstep in flames."
Lucien, seated farther down the table, arched a brow. "Or perhaps fate is just a cruel dramatist."
"Lucien," Séraphine chided softly.
Élaina smiled faintly at the exchange. It felt so... ordinary. Normal. A family gathered at dinner. Jokes and jabs. She had been bracing for interrogation, suspicion, or even rejection. Instead, she was offered stew and softness.
After the meal, Aveline tugged at Élaina's sleeve. "Will you tell us a story? A bedtime one?"
Élaina blinked. "A story?"
"You must know a good one," Séraphine encouraged, her smile tinged with genuine curiosity. "Perhaps something from where you came from?"
Where she came from. Earth. A world of high-rises and hospitals, of microwaves and music apps. None of that would make sense here.
"I... could tell you about a woman who saved a kingdom not with a sword," Élaina said slowly, "but with her wit, her strength, and her heart."
That night, she told them the story of Jeanne d'Arc—translated into broad fantasy strokes to fit their world. She changed the cannons into magical flares, the king into a sickly lord, and the English into shadowy usurpers. But the fire of Jeanne's conviction? That, she left untouched.
When the story ended, the household was quiet. Aveline had fallen asleep curled against her. Séraphine looked thoughtfully. Even Lucien's usual guardedness had softened.
"That was beautiful," Isabeau said after a long silence. "You tell it like you were there."
Élaina chuckled. "In some ways... maybe I was."
She helped carry Aveline to bed, walking the quiet stone halls beside Séraphine. At her door, the elder daughter paused.
"I know we've offered you a room, food, a place to stay," she said hesitantly, "but you've already given us something precious tonight. I hope you'll stay. Truly stay."
Élaina touched the worn stone frame of the doorway. "Thank you. I... I will."
Later, alone in her chamber, Élaina sat on the edge of the bed. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. She could still hear the flicker of candles from the corridor outside.
This family had no reason to take her in. They were falling—no, being pushed—toward ruin. The nobility scorned them. The realm had forgotten them. And yet they gave her kindness, warmth, and dignity.
They gave her a place.
And what had she done, truly, to earn it?
She clenched the edge of the blanket. In her past live, she had been a woman who fought to prove herself in every field. She had climbed ladders built for men. Saved lives in ER rooms. Advised generals. Argued policies in chambers where her voice was always the softest.
But here, maybe her voice didn't have to be soft. Maybe it could be a roar.
"I'll help them," she whispered aloud. "No matter what it takes. I swear it."
The candle flickered low. No screens appeared. No divine light. Just silence—and the faint shift of wind against stone.
But something... somewhere... had heard her.
And it was waiting.