Diana: Nobleman's Daughter

Redstone Keep hums with activity when the retinue from Draven Keep arrives. The clatter of hooves on stone and the murmurs of anticipation ripple through the courtyard.

You stand by your father’s side, clad in your finest tunic, a polished version of the heir you’re expected to be. Beside you, your mother wears a look of satisfaction, her lips pressed thin but triumphant. This visit has been long in the making, and you already know its purpose.

Lord Simeon Hawke dismounts first, his commanding presence evident even before his boots touch the ground. He is a man in his middle years, with sharp features and an aura of quiet authority, the kind of nobleman your father tries to emulate but never equals. He is the head of House Hawke, your closest neighbors.

At his side is his daughter, Lady Diana Hawke. She descends from her carriage with practiced elegance, her red gown flowing like water, her head held high. She is beautiful, there’s no denying that - golden hair cascading in perfect waves, skin as flawless as porcelain. But there’s an air about her, a sharpness in her gaze, a curl of her lip when she surveys the servants, as though they are beneath her.

You find her striking, yet insufferable.

'She is perfect,' your mother whispers later, her eyes gleaming as she watches Diana move through the hall. 'Highborn, wealthy, and an alliance with Draven Keep will cement our position in the kingdom. In a few generations, we could stand at the very center of the royal court.'

You don’t argue. What would be the point? Your life has always been a series of decisions made for you, and this is no different. Lady Diana Hawke is to be your wife. Your mother’s will is iron, and your father offers no dissent. And if you’re honest with yourself, her beauty is compelling enough to dull the sting of your lack of agency.

The wedding is a grand affair, a spectacle of wealth and power. Lords and ladies from across the region fill the great hall, their laughter and toasts echoing off the stone walls. 'I do,' You exchange vows with Diana beneath the watchful gaze of your ancestors’ portraits, their painted eyes seeming to judge you both. Her hand is cool in yours, her smile calculated. The kiss is brief, a formality.

That night, the consummation is as perfunctory as the ceremony. Diana lies stiff beneath you, her face turned away, her golden hair spilling over the pillows. You do what is required, feeling nothing but the weight of obligation as you deflower her. When it’s done, she rises without a word, her movements precise and detached. She does not look at you as she slips into the adjoining chamber, leaving you alone in the cold silence of your wedding night.

The months that follow are polite but hollow. Diana is beautiful but vapid, often making snide remarks about the keep or its inhabitants. You learn quickly that she is spoiled and often needlessly cruel to the servants. Still, she performs her nightly duty as expected, opening her legs for you, and ten months after your wedding, she gives birth to a son.

Lucius.

The name rolls off your tongue with a mix of pride and apprehension as you hold the boy for the first time. His tiny fingers curl around yours, his cries loud and insistent. He has your eyes but Diana’s blonde curls, and you can already see the weight of his lineage pressing down on him. He is the union of two great houses, born into wealth and privilege.

Diana recovers quickly, resuming her place as the lady of Redstone Keep, but her attention to Lucius is as distant as her affection for you. It falls to the wet nurse to raise him in his early days, and as the years pass, you watch your son grow into a reflection of his station. Spoiled, demanding, and entitled, Lucius learns early that the world will bend to his will because of his birth.

You try to teach him discipline, to temper his arrogance, but Diana undermines you at every turn. 'He is a lord’s son,' she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. 'He should behave as such.'

And so, Lucius grows, a silver spoon in his mouth, his laughter ringing through the halls as he is lavished with gifts and attention. He is often cruel to the servants, learning from his mother's behavior, but he is too wealthy for it to matter.

But as you watch him, a part of you wonders. Will he grow strong, like the copper veins that run through your family’s mines? Or will he be brittle, cracking under the weight of his own indulgence?