Duchy of Foiré

It's late fall in the Duchy of Foiré, with the colors of flame touching every leaf and the crisp mornings greeting the early rising farmers and shepherds. All the wealthy families and particularly the daughters are preparing their households for the Wintercrest festivities.

Most anticipated of all events is the premiere debutante ball at the family mansion of the Duke Erric and Duchess Ophelia Foiré. It is a yearly tradition dating back hundreds of years to the founding of the Dukedom.

That morning, the two hosts in question were locked in a heated discussion in a grand parlor furnished and guilded for ones befitting their rank. Intricate scrolling work decorated the mahogany paneled walls. The bright morning sun beaming through the windows created highlights and shadows across the bookshelves and intricately painted flower vases. And proving the wealth of the Foiré Dukedom further to anyone who graced their presence.

"Absolutely not." A man with rusty brown hair, neatly cropped sideburns, and sharp set of eyes stated flatly to his wife.

"Absolutely yes." A woman of refined grace and delicate plump beauty glared back.

Duke Erric was failing. He could never say no to her large chestnut brown eyes and slightly pouting lips. The morning sunlight bounced playfully as her blonde curly locks grazed against her cheeks making her look more like a heavenly cherub than his earthly wife of the past 15 years.

As she stared at him, wide eyed and expecting, Duke Erric's resolve absolutely collapsed. What could possibly go wrong with letting their little nugget debut at the ball?

Duchess Ophelia clapped her hands together excitedly and squealed with delight.

"I'll tell her," Duke Erric sighed and slouched his shoulders in defeat to his beloved.

"No, I will!" Duchess Ophelia twirled to face him again.

Taking a few steps forward until she was directly under his chin. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and squeezed him tightly ignoring the digging of his gold braid cords that signified his rank, across her cheek.

It is every mother's dream to debut their daughters into the glamour of society and Duchess Ophelia was not about to let this chance pass her by. Their long years of marriage had not tarnished her mothering instincts, even if the duchess never got to birth her own child.

"I will tell her," Duchess Ophelia whispered. Her eyes cast down to observe the crisp lines and hem of his suit jacket sleeve. She sucked in a breath. "I will…"

"I know. It's alright. It's best we introduce her to society before anyone makes unreasonable inquiries," The duke brought his free hand up to gently pat the back of her head knowingly careful not to crush the delicate curls of her intricate hairdo.

A slight crease formed between his eyebrows with worry remembering what was best forgotten and remembering the incoming complications. Gently wiggling his opposite arm free he held onto his little wife.

15 years they have been married, and in those 15 years they hadn't been able to conceive an heir. Duke Erric knew his wife blamed herself for their barren state. Throughout the difficult early years of their marriage and still now he never once blamed her. And unfortunately, he could not easily calm her fitful nights of sorrow until the night he brought home an unexpected gift.

It was a poor man's luxury that allowed him to reminisce. It was unusually bitterly cold that autumn evening and the night creatures known as the Forstull were roving in packs larger than usual…

There was a light knock on the parlor door.