The Duke's Imposter Sister

Chapter 5 – The Byrenhag Grand Mansion (1)

As a child, Gris had always hated riding in coaches.

She didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling of being caged inside a confined space nor the unbearable smell of mold that penetrated the upholstery whenever it rained. She also hated the unsteady rattle of the wheels on the uneven ground, and how that made her feel as if the box was physically beating her up.

However, the truth was a different matter—she inwardly knew the terror stemmed from her memory of the mob ambush on her last ride in the coach as a child.

To this day, she is still plagued by dreams of that horrid night eleven years ago. The flaming arrows that descended and penetrated the wooden frame of her small space. The ominous black figures that approached as she glanced through the window in fear. During that time, she was desperately trying to stamp out the little fires on the floor, while hanging onto the door to keep it closed.

At the mere thought of that night, Gris’ legs started trembling as she took a tentative step into the coach with Stephan, about whom she knew nothing other than his name.

Her fears gradually eased as the hours passed. Sleep assailed her senses soon after, her lidded eyes vaguely remembering landscape from long ago… the uneven fields of trees, the lush greenery. It had been a beautiful night with a full bright moon, very much akin to this one.

Regret filled her heart. Gris realized that she had taken so much for granted during her days as a princess.

Perhaps today is a lucky day, finally not riddled with misfortunes. Even if it seems comical, in a cruel sense, she could not help but make a note of the good and terrible days when she was locked inside the brothel.

Gris knew that she would have to return to her prison the moment they discover her identity is faux. So she made every effort to remember the details of the beautiful scenery before her, burning the seconds of her elusive freedom into her eyes.

Stephan was equally mesmerized with the scenery.

“Do you think it’s beautiful?”

He was surprised at how much she seemed to appreciate the ghostly night landscape. Feeling embarrassed, Gris nodded, now fully awake from the sleep that almost claimed her.

“The furthest I have been out of the brothel all these years was to fetch water from the well in the front yard.”

Stephan stroked his brown hair and pushed it away from his pallid face. Then he looked at her directly and asked,

“How do you feel about going home?”

Such direct, softly spoken words somehow seemed gentle coming from his parted lips. It did not help either that his features were every bit as of an angel. But Gris couldn’t brush off the flash of darkness from his soul he had shown earlier.

“I… I don’t know.”

As she kept repeating her words cautiously, Stephan’s brown pupils reflected the moonlight as he steadily gazed at Gris.

“If Grandmother recognizes you, then you’ll be able to stay at home.”

Home. She hadn’t heard that word for a very long time. She hadn’t had a home ever since the rebel forces massacred her family and demolished everything she had considered her haven.

Gris Benedict knew there was no home for her anywhere in this unfriendly and hard world.  And knowing this, she tried hard to keep her emotions in check, her expectations down the drain.

She only wished for one thing.

“Sir… I, I have only one request.”

As much as she hated every moment in the brothel and had made numerous attempts to escape, she only did so because she had heard a very hopeful message three years ago.

A traveling minstrel in his early forties told her that he had performed in the Grandia ballroom many years ago. And he luckily recognized the small girl in front of him as the second lost princess of Grandia. While he was singing his songs, he couldn’t stop staring at Gris and finally approached her to gauge if his guess had been right.

Gris, afraid the rebels would relentlessly continue to hunt her down, strongly denied it, but the musician was convinced that he had remembered correctly. Taking pity on her, he decided to share a rumor that had gone around in Byrenhag…

Rumor has it that a man named Johannes was looking for Gris Benedict for the last three years. Unable to find her himself, he had purchased a portrait of her at great personal expense. The musician added that the antique art store that sold the portrait was next to the church of Byrenhag and urged her that she should visit and try to learn more about her heritage.

Gris did not remember anyone named Johannes but latched onto the hope that it was a relative or one of her father’s followers who had used a pseudonym to hide their identity.

She wanted to find this man and tell him she was alive. Perhaps she could inquire about the current state of Grandia.

“Can we please stop by the church of Byrenhag on our way back?”

She knew it wasn’t a huge favor… but she didn’t want to give Stephan the benefit of the doubt, lest it raises his suspicions. The latter contemplated for a bit and scratched his left eyelid with his index finger.

“Why do you want to visit the church?”

His eyes like a hawk bore into Gris, prompting her to turn her head away and look back at the scenery. A mistake.

“I’ve heard it’s quite breathtaking.”

Stephan smirked at her remark.

“Then you don’t need to visit only the church, do you?” he said.

“…”

“I can assure you. You don’t need to see the church to witness beauty.”

Silence settled on the carriage. As they traveled a bit further, Gris continued to gaze at the golden beams of moonlight brightening the fields, sleep forgotten in her gnawing anxiousness. Suddenly, the coach stopped.

She looked out the window and saw a large metal gate, with a guard standing on either side, menacing and intimidating. As the horseman spoke quietly to the guards, they glanced inside the coach, spotting Stephan. His appearance was enough to warrant them quick entry to the gate.

Slowly the heavy gate opened, like claws of a bigger prison, and the coach steadily rolled into the mansion grounds.

From her periphery, Gris could see in the distance to the western side of the gates was a stable, and a couple of horses munching on grass in the open field.  A group of armed men was chatting amongst themselves as they patrolled the stone path that surrounded the mansion.

The air inside the gates seemed… gentler. Could it be from the scent of fresh flowers and newly cut grass? Nevertheless, the enormous mansion that could be mistaken for a castle seemed simple yet elegant upon first glance.

Gris now realized what Stephan meant when he said she didn’t have to go to the church to see something magnificent.

The night sky was powdered with glittering stars, the lake reflecting the golden silhouette of the moonlight and the array of flower beds around the mansion, of which she could see has been meticulously managed, exuded harmony and tranquility.

“This place is…”

As the coach approached the front door of the mansion, Gris finally recovered her sense of speech. Stephan turned, waiting for her reaction.

“Welcome to the grand mansion of the Byrenhags.”