Chapter 26
Vidalia smiled silently, lost in her thoughts. The day had been magnificent, and the moment—still suspended in the golden glow of twilight—remained etched in her mind. Yet another step awaited her now: meeting her mother's family. A bittersweet apprehension tightened in her stomach. She was as nervous as she was excited.
"What are you thinking about, my Lia?" Arzhel asked, snapping his fingers. The boxes holding the remains of their meal burst into flames, reduced to ashes in an instant, leaving no trace behind.
Camélia exchanged a stunned glance with her guards.
A fire mage?!
"I was just thinking about… the meeting that awaits me," Vidalia replied softly, her hands clenched in the fabric of her dress. "I hope my mother's family will be different from my father's."
She added the last words with biting irony, a cold glint flashing in her eyes.
"Don't worry," Arzhel reassured her gently. "I've already done a bit of research on them, and I promise you—they're the complete opposite of the Sullivans."
He placed a light kiss on her cheek, making Vidalia blush instantly. A discreet smile curved her lips. Arzhel truly was… extraordinary.
Camélia, having recovered from the shock of Arzhel's magic, spoke again in a polite, curious tone.
"You mentioned, I believe, that your maternal grandfather was a former viscount?"
Vidalia nodded.
"Yes. Viscount Edward Reinhart. His son, Frederick, now holds the title as head of the family. Do you know him, Camélia?"
The young noblewoman narrowed her eyes slightly, thinking.
"Yes… Though the family is neither particularly wealthy nor influential at court, Viscount Frederick is known for his charitable actions and his investments in small businesses—often unprofitable ones," she admitted with a hint of embarrassment. "They are better known as a family of merchants and entrepreneurs. It was your grandfather, Viscount Edward Reinhart, who raised their title from baron to viscount. By all accounts, he was a remarkable man. Unfortunately, he disappeared two years after my birth."
A brief silence followed, then Mira spoke hesitantly.
"It's said he had a daughter of exceptional beauty… though no one truly knows what she looked like. I assume that was your mother, Vidalia?"
Vidalia lowered her gaze to her folded hands and nodded.
"Yes. Her name was Ophelia. A quiet, gentle woman… fiercely independent. Very few people ever truly knew her."
As their conversation continued in hushed tones, a faint disturbance in the distance drew everyone's attention. A black carriage adorned with bronze fittings and impeccably polished wheels advanced slowly along the cobbled street bordering the square. Two dark bay horses, gleaming and elegantly harnessed, pulled it with dignified poise.
Passersby stepped aside, intrigued. The coachman, dressed in a refined but understated uniform, pulled the reins and brought the carriage to a halt directly in front of the bench where Vidalia stood. The door opened with a soft creak.
An elderly man stepped down—upright despite his age—wearing a gray cloak lined with deep midnight blue. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his deep green eyes lit up a face marked by time yet filled with kindness. A sincere smile spread across his lips when he saw the young girl.
"Vidalia, my precious granddaughter," he said warmly, emotion vibrating in his voice as he opened his arms.
Vidalia rose, frozen for a second in shock, then rushed forward and threw herself into her grandfather's embrace. She had not expected him to come in person.
"Grandfather…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Edward Reinhart held her gently.
"You resemble Ophelia so much," he murmured. "I'm so glad you were finally able to remove that cursed veil. I'm so happy to finally have you with me."
He straightened slightly, then turned toward the group gathered nearby and bowed, one hand over his heart.
"Allow me to thank you for your kindness and companionship toward my granddaughter. I am Edward Reinhart, Viscount by title—and a very fulfilled grandfather."
Camélia stepped forward gracefully and returned his greeting with a respectful bow.
"Camélia von Greenwood, daughter of Duke Vesper. It is an honor to meet you, Viscount."
Edward's eyes widened. To think his granddaughter was friends with the young duchess—Vidalia truly was full of surprises.
"The pleasure is mine, young lady," he replied warmly.
Arzhel, for his part, stepped forward with a mischievous smile, both playful and impeccably courteous. He executed an exaggerated bow, one hand to his chest, the other extended theatrically.
"Arzhel, humble magician and devoted protector of your precious descendant, Viscount."
Edward raised an amused eyebrow at the young man's deliberate exaggeration but answered with genuine kindness.
"You seem to care for her sincerely… and that is enough for me."
"I adore her, sir," Arzhel replied without the slightest hesitation, his glowing gaze fixed on Vidalia. "I hope you'll allow me to continue cherishing her with devotion and loyalty."
Vidalia turned crimson and lowered her head, while Camélia discreetly rolled her eyes.
The viscount laughed heartily.
"A lively flame indeed. Keep your promises, and I shall not stand in your way."
He extended his hand to Vidalia.
"Ready to go home?"
She nodded timidly and turned to her friends.
"I'll write to you very soon," she said, deeply moved.
Camélia hugged her briefly. Adeline and Mira smiled warmly. Arzhel, without a word, kissed her hand tenderly.
"I'll come get you if I miss you too much."
She smiled, her heart tight yet light all at once.
Then she climbed into the carriage beside her grandfather. The hooves echoed once more against the cobblestones as the carriage rolled away into the fading light.
Silence settled inside the carriage, broken only by the steady roll of the wheels and the rhythmic clatter of hooves. Sitting across from her grandfather, Vidalia kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, fingers gripping her dress. Her gaze drifted toward the passing scenery outside the window, and she nibbled her lower lip, her heart pounding harder than necessary.
Edward studied her quietly. His experienced eye noticed the tension in her shoulders and the nervous pallor of her cheeks.
"You're very quiet, my dear. Is something troubling you?" he asked gently.
Vidalia slowly lifted her head. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed.
"I'm… a little nervous, I admit."
"What are you afraid of, my child?"
Her hands tightened further, but her grandfather's gaze was gentle, without judgment—and something inside her gave way.
"I'm afraid I won't belong… that I won't be accepted."
She swallowed.
"I only ever knew the Sullivan household. There, I was nothing. A servant. A mistake to be hidden. I don't know what it feels like to be part of a real family."
Edward remained silent for a moment. Then he reached out and gently placed his hand over hers.
"You are home now. With us. No matter the years lost, you are my granddaughter—and no one can take that from you."
Vidalia lowered her eyes, deeply moved. She was not used to such care.
"Tell me," Edward continued, his voice more serious yet still calm, "what has happened at the Sullivan manor these past weeks? After I left, I received no news—I was preparing for your arrival."
Vidalia drew a trembling breath and spoke softly.
"My sister has grown more arrogant than ever and never misses a chance to remind me I'm beneath her. Elysia hasn't forgotten me like I thought—she keeps a close eye on me. As for Edwin, I barely see him. I think he's completely forgotten me, which is probably a good thing… but Elysia takes great pleasure in it."
Edward closed his eyes, jaw tightening.
"You should never have endured that," he said quietly. "Your mother would never have wanted this for you."
"It's all right now," Vidalia smiled softly, gazing out the window. "I know I'm not alone anymore."
Edward watched her a moment longer, as if engraving every detail of her face into his memory. Then he spoke again, lighter in tone, easing the weight of the past.
"The estate isn't very large, but it's peaceful. We have greenhouses, an orchard, and a small lake behind the house. Your grandmother insisted on the rose garden—they're still there."
Vidalia turned toward him, shy curiosity lighting her eyes.
"Do you live alone, Grandfather?"
"No. Your uncle Frederick and his wife Eleanor live on the estate with their two children. Your cousin Silas is seventeen, and little Isaline just turned twelve. I must admit… they've been very curious about you."
"Curious?"
He smiled amusedly.
"Some weren't certain you truly existed. A few thought you were a family legend. Others imagined a sickly child hidden away in a tower." He shrugged dramatically. "The young have vivid imaginations."
Vidalia smiled faintly.
"I hope they won't be disappointed."
"They won't," he said firmly. "You are a Reinhart, and I will tolerate no disrespect."
Silence fell again, but it was gentler this time—allowing them to prepare for what lay ahead.
The carriage finally slowed, and Vidalia felt her heart race. She leaned toward the window.
The estate gates were tall, wrought from black metal with intricate designs, framed by pale stone pillars. Neatly trimmed hedges stretched on either side, leading down a tree-lined path. At the end stood a two-story manor with ivory-colored walls and gray slate roofs, elegant and dignified in the golden afternoon light. Gardeners worked quietly nearby, and a governess waited on the steps, hands folded, perfectly straight.
"We've arrived," Edward murmured reassuringly.
Vidalia took a deep breath as the carriage passed through the gates, which closed softly behind them.
No sooner had the carriage stopped at the front steps than the door flew open. A man in his forties, brown hair streaked with gray, hurried down the stairs, followed by an elegantly dressed woman and two shy-looking teenagers.
"Father!" the man exclaimed, arms wide—then stopped short when he saw Vidalia step down behind Edward.
A brief silence fell.
Then Frederick smiled warmly, if a bit hesitantly, and inclined his head.
"And you must be… Vidalia. Welcome home," he said sincerely, emotion carefully restrained.
Vidalia bowed timidly.
"Thank you for welcoming me."
The woman beside him stepped forward, placing a delicate hand over her chest.
"I'm Eleanor, your aunt. We're truly—truly—happy to finally meet you."
"I'm Silas," the boy said, stepping closer, hands in his pockets, gaze curious. He cleared his throat, visibly awkward. "Um… do you want us to show you around?"
"And I'm Isaline!" the girl exclaimed brightly, nearly rushing toward Vidalia before stopping abruptly, uncertain. "Uh… can I hug you?"
Vidalia blinked, surprised, then nodded softly. Isaline immediately threw her arms around her neck, brimming with enthusiasm.
"You're so pretty! And your hair is beautiful! And your eyes are amazing!"
Eleanor coughed, half-embarrassed, half-amused.
"Isaline, let your cousin breathe…"
Soft laughter spread through the group, and even Edward chuckled quietly.
Vidalia, a little overwhelmed, smiled sincerely nonetheless. The atmosphere, though slightly awkward, was filled with a warmth she had never known before.
Frederick gestured toward the door.
"Let's go inside. Tea is ready, and I believe we have much to talk about."
Vidalia followed, her steps hesitant but her heart lighter. For the first time, she felt she might truly be… accepted.
Dinner was served in the grand dining hall of the Reinhart manor—a bright room, simply decorated, yet filled with old family charm. Warm candlelight illuminated their faces, and the rich scent of simmering stew filled the air.
At first quiet, Vidalia slowly opened up under the kindness of those around the table. Their gazes held no weight, no prying curiosity—only patience. And there, between bites and gentle smiles, she began to tell her story.
She spoke of her mother. Of the gentle woman with fragile laughter who had hidden her beauty and her past to raise her daughter in a modest cabin deep in the woods. She spoke of illness, of sad silences, of stories whispered by the fire. Then of her death—quiet, peaceful, devastating.
She spoke of her abrupt entry into a world she did not know. The Sullivan manor. A father who acknowledged her without accepting her. A stepmother who saw her as a burden, a shameful secret to hide. A half-sister, Angela, whom she had served day after day, never daring to complain.
She spoke little of Edwin.
And finally, of her meeting with Arzhel—of warmth rediscovered through glances, of a future she still didn't dare to call her own.
Tears were shed. Eleanor held Vidalia for long minutes. Isaline sobbed against her, repeating that she should never have lived through such things. Even Silas placed a quiet hand on her shoulder.
But it was Edward, standing behind her chair, who spoke the simplest words of all:
"You will never have to endure that alone again."
Later, as daylight began to fade beyond the windows, Silas offered to give her a tour of the manor. Vidalia, her cheeks still flushed with emotion, accepted.
Isaline ran ahead, hopping over the stone tiles.
Silas walked beside Vidalia, hands clasped behind his back, gaze averted.
"So… um… this is the library. Well, not a big one—just the downstairs one. There's another upstairs, but it smells like old moldy leather, so I never go in there."
Vidalia stifled a laugh.
"And this is the greenhouse. It's mostly Mom's. If you touch anything without warning her, she gets a bit… intense. Nicely intense, but still intense."
"I'll be careful, I promise," Vidalia said with a smile.
Silas blushed slightly.
"I'm… uh… not very good at this stuff. You know—reunions, cousins, all that. But if you ever need a quiet corner, or someone to help you escape an awkward conversation… I'm actually pretty good at that."
Vidalia looked at him, surprised by his sincere awkwardness. She smiled, touched.
"Thank you, Silas. I think I'd really like… to get to know you."
He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish.
"Yeah, well… welcome to the Reinharts."
Isaline ran back and grabbed Vidalia's hand.
"Come on! We still have the stables, the kitchen, and the secret room Silas thinks I don't know about—but I do, so we have to go see it!"
Silas rolled his eyes.
"Isaline…"
But Vidalia was already laughing, pulled along into a corner of the manor where memories would soon grow far gentler than those she had left behind.