Chapter 5: Special Age

The soft clinking of teacups and saucers echoed gently in the greenhouse, blending with the occasional rustle of wind against glass. The Viscountess and Baroness sat across from one another, casually discussing the weather — all while Veralyn subtly slid the finest treats toward Kirien's plate.

The boy's eyes lit up as he nibbled on a sugar-dusted pastry, his cheeks blooming with quiet delight.

"Veralyn, you take such care of Kirien," the Viscountess remarked, sipping her tea with elegance. "Margrete could stand to learn a thing or two from you. It's always such a hassle cleaning up after your other two siblings' messes."

The Baroness flinched, her posture stiffening. "It's my failure, Mother. I haven't been able to guide them properly. I… apologise." Her gaze stayed fixed on the tea in her cup.

"Oh, my child," the Viscountess sighed, her voice light and oddly soothing. "It's not the children's fault. They only inherited what you and your husband could gave them. That family name of his sounded so noble once, but it was all for show. A gambler, a drunkard. And you… well, you were never particularly talented in anything yourself, weren't you dear?"

The Baroness sat like a corpse — pale, frozen from the embarrassment.

The Viscountess dabbed at her lips, then added, "I've also received word. Lysandra has been spending all her time at balls and the theatre. And Edrien… he's doing quite poorly at the Nobles' Academy."

"If Sister loves balls and theatre so much," Veralyn said blandly, without lifting her eyes from the teapot, "she should start her own theatre company. That way she can keep enjoying herself and make a living out of it."

The Baroness sat like a corpse from all the embarrassment.

"Now that's thinking. You've got sense in your head, Veralyn — more than your siblings combined," the grandmother said with a hint of pride.

The Viscountess laughed, sharp and delighted. "Well said!"

She turned to Kirien, her tone shifting to something firmer. "And Kirien should be enrolled in the Academy by now. Fragile health or not — he's twelve. It's time. We can't have him lagging behind. Especially not when he looks exactly like an Aurenhart. We can't have him grow up ignorant."

"But…" Veralyn interjected gently, "most boys start the Academy around fourteen or fifteen. Isn't it too soon? Please, Grandmother, reconsider."

The Viscountess paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "If only you were the face of Aurenhart… It's a pity, really. You've got the mind, the manners, and even the discipline — but—" She paused. "That crimson hair of yours stands out like wildfire, just like a true Aurenhart line. Sometimes I wonder how fate chooses its masks."

Then, softening with a faint smile, she added, "But since it's you asking — I'll think on it."

The Baroness took a slow breath, casting a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Anyway, Veralyn had something to ask you, Mother. Isn't that right, Veralyn?"

Veralyn met her gaze evenly. "I… don't recall anything at the moment."

A delicate silence fell over the table. One could almost hear the flick of tension crackle in the air.

A vein pulsed faintly at the Baroness's temple. "Oh? Is that so, my child?" Her voice remained soft, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable. "Try to jog your memory. I'm sure it'll come to you if you really try."

It wasn't that Veralyn had forgotten the conversation from earlier. She remembered it all too well — the whispered plan, the insistence, the subtle pressure in the Baroness's voice. But now, faced with the Viscountess's gaze and Kirien's innocent presence beside her, she couldn't bring herself to speak the words the Baroness wanted her to.

Or perhaps, more truthfully, she was hesitating — trying to understand. To catch the Baroness's intention, buried beneath the polished surface.

Her fingers tightened around the teacup.

What was the desperation in the Baroness's eyes? It flickered behind the practiced calm like a flame on the verge of escape. For what? Approval? Power? Protection?

Or… fear?

Veralyn's heart thudded, but she didn't let it show.

"I'm sorry," she said at last, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I truly can't recall."

The Baroness's jaw twitched, her smile stiffening as she lowered her cup with a sharp clink onto the saucer.

The Viscountess arched an elegant brow but said nothing — merely watching, sipping, calculating.

The Baroness's hand reached toward Kirien with a sweet smile. "Would you like more sweets, little one?" she cooed, gently patting his head. Her fingers slowly drifted to the back of his neck.

To an outsider, it would've seemed like an affectionate gesture. But to Veralyn, Alena, and even Kirien — who had known her closely — it was terrifying.

Her polished nails lightly dug into the skin at Kirien's nape.

He let out a small cry.

"Oh, my dear! I'm so sorry, my love," the Baroness gasped, withdrawing her hand with a flutter of concern. "I didn't mean to — oh dear, I suppose my nails scratched you a little."

She turned her gaze toward Veralyn with sharp precision — all sweetness draining from her eyes.

Veralyn's fingers clenched tightly around her teacup. Her heart pounded. Her throat burned.

This was it — the threat. The expectation. The price.

"I… I remembered!" she blurted suddenly, trying to steady her voice. It wavered just slightly, but enough for the tension in the room to catch it. "Grandmother, I'm feeling really impatient… so… could you possibly give me my 17th birthday gift in advance? It's just two months away, so it won't be too much trouble, I believe…"

The Viscountess blinked, mildly surprised. "What? But the 17th birthday is important, my child. That's when you're considered an adult… when you can officially get engaged. Why now?"

"Please, Grandmother! You don't know how excited I am for it," Veralyn said, her voice rising in urgency. "Please? Please! Please!" She clasped her hands in her lap, putting all the childish enthusiasm she could muster into the performance — her heart thudding behind every word.

Veralyn had been thinking hard, trying to uncover the reason behind the Baroness's insistence that she ask for her seventeenth birthday gift in advance.

Seventeen — a sacred age in Viremond. The age one is recognized as an adult. With it came the right to be engaged, to marry, to refuse, and to fight for what was rightfully theirs. And above all — the right to inheritance.

According to Viremond's law, an illegitimate child holds no claim to a family's name, its title, its face, or its inheritance.

But! If that illegitimate child happened to be the firstborn of both parents, then the law bends in their favor. The child gains rights — legal, social, and even noble standing.

It was a loophole that sparked countless family feuds — siblings against siblings, mothers against mistresses, and blood against blood.

The law of Viremond was not only difficult to understand — it was dangerous to agree with.