Chapter 123: A Lynx Matriarch
"So you’re the heir of Rotwald?"
The elderly lynx Beastwoman stopped directly in front of Lucien.
"Yes, Matriarch."
The fox Beastman lowered his head, using the respectful form of address without a second thought.
And although the Duchess was the rightful ruler of Luchsenstein, the moment the old lynx woman had arrived, it had become unmistakably clear who truly stood at the head of this bloodline.
No one corrected him.
A faint, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of Mirabelle’s grandmother’s mouth. Or perhaps Mirabelle had only imagined it.
The woman’s ice-gray eyes bored into Lucien’s.
"Hmm. You won’t be bringing any bad habits with you, I trust?"
Mirabelle nearly choked on air. She knew exactly what her grandmother meant.
Images of a room filled with naked Beastmen instantly flooded her mind.
Her mother let out a strangled sound. Mirabelle glanced sideways.
The Duchess’s cheeks had turned a distinct shade of pink.
She decided she really didn’t want to think too hard about what that implied. Only now did it occur to her that her mother and the High Duchess of Rotwald apparently shared a rather... close friendship.
"Of course not."
Lucien inclined his head once more, this time even dipping his upper body into a respectful bow.
The old lynx woman merely narrowed her eyes another fraction. Then, gathering her robes with a soft rustle of exotic fabric, she stepped in front of Silas.
The shadows beneath them deepened ever so slightly. Only someone watching closely would have noticed.
To Mirabelle’s horror, her grandmother poked the panther squarely in the chest.
"And you’re the prince?"
Silas didn’t bow.
But his reply was perfectly respectful, his voice as deep and smooth as ever.
"That is correct, Matriarch."
"I can see why my granddaughter took a liking to you."
With that, she turned toward Kaelith.
She stood before him for a long moment, one hand resting beneath her chin as she studied him in silence.
Through their bond, Mirabelle could feel her first mate growing increasingly restless.
Finally, the former Duchess spoke:
"I think making you the first mate was the right decision." Her gaze lingered on him another heartbeat. "You seem to be the strongest among them."
For the briefest instant, the shadows stretching across the courtyard appeared to flicker.
Then Silas reined them back under control.
The elderly Beastwoman spared him a single sidelong glance before turning toward Mirabelle.
"It seems you’ve made a reasonably capable selection. Whether your decisions in every other regard are worthy of a Duchess...
We’ll find out soon enough."
She shifted her attention back to Miranda.
"Miranda, I trust my usual chambers have been prepared?"
"Of course, Mother."
With a satisfied nod, as though she had expected nothing less, the former Duchess turned and ascended the staircase.
Her males didn’t follow immediately.
Instead, each of them stepped forward in turn to embrace the Duchess warmly.
Then, to Mirabelle’s complete surprise, every one of them brushed an air kiss against her cheek before following after her grandmother.
Not one of them spoke a single word.
Silence settled over the courtyard. Only the elephant remained.
Her mother stepped forward and extended her hand.
The Male lifted his trunk and gently bumped it against her fist in greeting.
"Lonan will escort you to the changing rooms, Ezekiel."
The massive elephant inclined his head with quiet elegance. Then the bear Beastman stepped forward and led him toward the castle.
Shaking her head, Mirabelle watched the welcoming party gradually dissolve while servants hurried past her onto the courtyard.
Moments later, more Beastmen entered through the castle gates in their animal forms.
At first, Mirabelle assumed they were part of the escort. Then she noticed the crates.
One after another...
Massive wooden chests were carried into the courtyard. Some required the strength of enormous bears and buffalo Beastmen, while others were balanced across the broad backs of oxen and horse males.
Heavy ropes creaked.
Wood groaned.
Iron reinforcements clinked with every careful step.
The crates varied wildly in size.
Some were no larger than travel trunks.
Others were so enormous that Mirabelle couldn’t imagine what could possibly be inside them.
Servants immediately rushed forward, carefully checking labels before directing each crate toward different sections of the castle.
More and more kept coming.
Woven baskets overflowing with tropical fruit she’d never seen before.
Ceramic jars sealed with wax.
Long wooden cases that looked suspiciously like they contained furniture.
And, unless Mirabelle’s eyes were deceiving her, ...someone was currently carrying an entire palm tree.
She stared.
"...Is she moving in?"
No one answered.
Mainly because nobody seemed entirely certain she wasn’t.
_____
Her grandmother and mother were already waiting for Mirabelle on the terrace for brunch.
The broad stone terrace stretched out from the dining hall, overlooking the castle grounds like a private balcony above Luchsenstein itself.
Bathed in the warm light of late morning, everything shimmered with the soft golden glow of a perfect summer day.
Below, carefully manicured flowerbeds painted the gardens in countless shades of crimson, lavender, ivory, and deep blue. Narrow gravel paths wound gracefully between trimmed hedges and marble fountains, while butterflies drifted lazily from blossom to blossom.
Beyond the gardens stood the outer walls of the castle, their pale stone gleaming beneath the sun. Farther still lay the duchy’s lands.
Rolling meadows swayed gently beneath the summer breeze before gradually giving way to the ancient forests that blanketed the valley. In the distance, two towering mountains framed the landscape like silent guardians, and between them disappeared the old road leading toward Zasar.
Even from here, the forests looked endless.
Beautiful.
And just a little intimidating.
The table itself looked as though someone had decided that moderation was deeply offensive.
A long white linen tablecloth covered the polished wood, while delicate porcelain adorned every place setting.
Unlike the elegant blue-and-white tea service Mirabelle and Lucien already knew, this set was painted with hundreds of tiny wildflowers.
Soft pink roses, forget-me-nots, daisies, lavender blossoms, and little white lilies curled around every plate and teacup, connected by slender green vines that seemed almost to fine to behand-painted.
Silver cake stands rose between crystal pitchers filled with chilled fruit water infused with citrus, mint, and berries.
The scent alone was enough to make Mirabelle’s stomach growl. Despite her eating her fill this morning.
Freshly baked pastries occupied nearly an entire side of the table. Golden croissants glistened beneath a light brushing of butter. Delicate braided sweet breads were covered with honey drizzle, while flaky pastries overflowed with berry preserves, vanilla cream, honeyed nuts, and baked apples sprinkled with cinnamon.
There were buttery rolls whose crusts crackled softly whenever someone touched them.
Small fruit tarts shimmered beneath a thin layer of glaze, their colorful berries arranged so perfectly they almost looked too beautiful to eat.
Then came Lonen’s newest obsession.
Bread.
Not the dense potato loaves the duchy had always known, but airy wheat breads with crisp golden crusts and impossibly soft interiors. Long baguettes rested beside round country loaves, while fluffy milk rolls sat in woven baskets wrapped in linen to keep them warm.
Every single recipe had been impossible before wheat became available.
Now...
Lonen seemed determined to make up for centuries of missed opportunities.
The entire terrace smelled of warm butter, fresh bread, honey, herbs, ripe fruit, and blooming flowers.
Her grandmother flicked a dismissive hand in her direction, wordlessly beckoning her to sit down already while calmly lifting a small fruit pastry to her lips with the other.
The former Duchess occupied one end of the table. The current Duchess sat opposite her.
The only remaining place setting awaited Mirabelle in the middle, facing the sweeping view of her lands... and the distant mountains marking the border to Zasar.
Mirabelle took her seat, instinctively falling back on the etiquette that lingered in her muscle memory.
"Would you pass me the butter crescents?" her mother asked.
"Of course."
Without thinking, Mirabelle reached for the basket and handed it to her.
"What are you staring at?" her grandmother scolded. "Eat. Pastries are always best while they’re still warm."
She said so while reaching for a thick slice of crusty bread herself.
"...How am I supposed to eat this?" the old Lynx woman asked, holding it up.
"Butter first," Miranda explained. "Then either ham or smoked sausage. That aged cheese pairs well with it, too. I’d recommend a light berry wine... and some of the pickled vegetables on the side."
Her grandmother gave a single approving nod and calmly helped herself to everything Miranda had mentioned. Only then did she beckon to a servant.
"Wine."
Moments later, a crystal glass filled with pale berry wine was placed beside her plate.
Mirabelle couldn’t help noticing how different meals in Luchsenstein were from those of many other noble houses.
Here, everyone served themselves.
The servants remained nearby to refill drinks or replace empty platters, but no one hovered over the table waiting to place every bite into noble hands.
According to the former Mirabelle’s memories, many aristocratic families expected servants to do exactly that: pour every drink, plate every course, even hand over a napkin whenever someone wished to wipe their mouth.
Compared to that...
The Duchesses of Luchsenstein felt surprisingly grounded.
For people who ruled an entire duchy, they were refreshingly capable of buttering their own bread
In summary it looked like nothing more than a leisurely late brunch between three generations of women.
Sunlight.
Flowers.
Fresh pastries.
Tea.
Peace.
Mirabelle, however, knew better.
This wasn’t brunch.
It was an interrogation.
And somehow, she had the distinct feeling that even seasoned torture masters would watch today’s conversation with professional admiration.