They call this place home, but sometimes, it feels more like a stage that forgot its actors. Long velvet curtains frame windows too tall for me to reach. The chandeliers sparkle like stars too far away, and the silence in the halls is so thick, it wraps around my ankles like a ghost.
I'm Missy Claudenthal—the youngest daughter of Duke Claudenthal, and currently the only Claudenthal actually in this mansion.
Papa's away at court again, busy with laws and knights and all the grand things nobles do. My sister Sylvia attends the Imperial Academy for Ladies of Prestige. She sends letters sometimes, but I don't know if they're for me. My brothers, Rein and Leo, are knights-in-training, and they're always off slaying something or learning to slay something.
That just leaves me, Missy. Seven years old. Small, smart, a little stubborn, and entirely too curious for the servants' comfort.
The staff tells me to stop running in the halls. They grumble when I sit in the library by myself. And they scowl when I ask too many questions—like why Mama's portrait was moved to the gallery or why Nanny disappeared one cold winter morning.
"She stole from the duchess," the cook once whispered. "Took the little lady's silver combs. Greedy old woman."
But I know Nanny.
She gave me warm milk when my belly ached. She sang songs to chase away my nightmares. She made me combs out of cherry wood, carved with swans and stars, because she said silver was "too sharp for your dreams."
She didn't steal. She never would.
She just... vanished.
Like everyone else.
I don't cry about it anymore.
Nanny said tears are precious. "Don't waste them, lamb," she whispered once, brushing my cheeks with her rough hands. "Use them for things that matter."
So I save them. I bottle them up like tiny jars inside me. And when no one is watching, I sneak away to my secret place—the hidden garden in the western wing.
Overgrown roses spill over the stone walls. Wild jasmines bloom where no gardener dares go. A little pond shimmers with shy goldfish that hide beneath lily pads. It's a magical, forgotten place. Just like me.
I like to sit beneath the oldest jasmine tree and pretend I'm not a Duke's daughter. That I'm just a regular little girl with a big imagination and a whole sky of possibilities.
Today, I'm mad.
The gardener's boy tripped me. The maids laughed. I tore my red dress—the one with the shiny lace and the ribbon Nanny embroidered. My knee stung and my pride ached, but I didn't cry.
Instead, I ran here.
Here, I can breathe.
And dream.
That's when I saw him.
At first, I thought I imagined him—like the prince in the storybooks who visits the lonely girl under moonlight. But no. He stepped through the overgrown path, brushing aside vines like he belonged here.
He was tall. Maybe ten or eleven. He wore black—elegant, simple. His hair was dark, almost midnight blue in the sunlight. But what caught me most were his eyes—a deep, mysterious purple. And under his right eye, just near the cheekbone, was a small mole.
He froze when he saw me, as surprised as I was.
"This is my garden," I said quickly, hugging my knees.
He blinked. "Really? Looks like mine."
"No! I found it first. No one else comes here."
He raised an eyebrow. "So? That makes it yours?"
"Yes," I said, because that's how the world should work.
He stared at me, then walked over and sat on my favorite bench like he owned it.
I narrowed my eyes. "Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"I asked first."
He smirked, not rudely—just... amused. "You look like a wild rabbit."
"I'm not a rabbit!" I huffed. "I'm Missy Claudenthal."
That made him pause. "...The Duke's daughter?"
"Yes," I said proudly.
He looked around. "All alone?"
I flinched but held my chin up. "I'm not lonely. I'm strong. And brave. And very smart."
He didn't argue. He just nodded and said, "Good."
We sat together in silence, the soft wind rustling leaves around us.
And then, I remembered something Nanny once told me.
"Always repay kindness with something precious," she said while patting my head. "And the most precious thing in a lady's life, little lamb, is love."
Once, I overheard the maids gossiping in the kitchen about it too.
"She married him because he helped her once," one said, laughing. "Can you imagine? Giving away your life for a single favor?"
And so I turned to the boy, very serious.
"You were kind," I said.
He blinked. "What?"
"You didn't call me names. You didn't make fun of me." I took a deep breath. "So I'll give you my most precious thing."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "...Which is?"
"Marriage," I said proudly.
He choked. "W-What?!"
"I'll marry you."
He stared at me like I'd turned into a toad.
"You're... proposing?"
"Yes. Properly."
I stood up, brushed my dusty dress, and curtsied deeply—just like Nanny taught me.
"Will you be my husband?" I asked with my most serious face.
He stared at me. And then—he laughed.
Not in a mocking way. It was light, like a breeze through my garden. Like he hadn't laughed in a long time.
"You're insane," he said, still smiling. "But fine."
My eyes widened. "So you accept?"
He stood and bent slightly, ruffling my tangled hair.
"When you grow up," he said, "ask me again. Then I'll give you an answer."
I pouted. "You'll forget."
"I won't," he promised. "I never forget anything important."
He turned to leave.
"Wait!" I called out. "What's your name?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "When you become strong enough," he said with a wink, "I'll tell you."
Then he vanished, leaving only rustling leaves behind.
That night, I returned to my room.
The halls were still empty. The servants still ignored me. My reflection in the mirror still had messy hair and bruised knees.
But I smiled.
Because today, I made a friend.
Today, someone laughed with me.
And today, I got engaged.