They let her rest after that.
After sometime the servants came in quietly. A young maid with soft brown eyes helped her sit up and gently helped her dressed in a warm tunic and loose woolen trousers, both far too large but soft against her skin. A knitted shawl was draped over her shoulders, and thick socks slid over her feet.
The warmth made her drowsy again. A tray was set on the table by the window: warm porridge topped with honey and chopped apples, slices of toasted bread with soft butter, and a mug of milk steeped with cloves and cinnamon.
She hesitated, then reached out with quiet hunger and ate. Slowly at first, uncertain if her body would allow it. But as the taste hit her tongue, something in her settled.
Afterward, she was helped to the cushioned window seat. The snow-streaked pines beyond the glass, stretched far and wide, the peaks of distant mountains were barely visible beneath a gauzy sky.
The doctor had left behind tonics and a folded parchment of instructions.
Acacia was left with the warmth of her breath on glass, the ache of her limbs.
She didn't know who she was.
She didn't know what had brought her to those woods or why her dreams flickered with flashes of silver fire and distant screams.
But the pendant still hung around her neck.
Still cool. Still heavy.
Still pulsing with a strange, slow hush "You are not lost, only waiting to be found again."
She touched the pendant gently. She could not explain how, but something about it felt… old. Older than memory. Older than her.
Outside, the wind had softened. Snow fell in lighter threads.
There was a knock.
It was soft but deliberate, not one of the maids.
She turned, her fingers still resting over the pendant.
The door opened slowly.
Two figures stepped into the room.
The taller wasDominicAshcroft, about 18 years old, with broad shoulders that suggested strength beyond his years. His dark brown hair was neatly trimmed, a stark contrast to his piercing grey eyes that seemed to hold the weight of responsibility and careful calculation just like the duke's. His expression was calm, but the faint crease between his brows spoke of many sleepless nights guarding the family legacy.
The younger, Astor Ashcroft, was a few years Dominic's junior, around fifteen, the same age as Acacia. His dark brown hair was tousled, like he had just come in from the cold, and his grey eyes sparkled with an impish curiosity. His lean frame moved with a quiet grace, and his half-smile hinted at a restless spirit, one who found joy in mischief but carried a deep kindness beneath.
Neither looked at her like she was a stranger, only as if she belonged somewhere important.
The older one was first to speak. "So. You're awake."
His voice was low, even. Measured.
She nodded. Her fingers dropped from the pendant to the folds of her blanket.
The younger one stepped closer, his boots silent over the rugs. "You don't remember anything, do you?"
"No," she said softly. Her voice felt smaller here, in the hush of the room. "Only… dreams."
"Dreams?" the older one echoed, a subtle note of curiosity entering his tone.
"Flashes," she amended. "Silver fire. Screams. Nothing I understand."
A beat passed. The two exchanged a look.
"My name is Dominic," the elder said. "This is Astor. We are the sons of Duke Nathaniel & Duchess Mirena Ashcroft. You'll be staying here, in our home."
"Not out of charity," Astor added gently. "You were found at our borders. Injured, alone. It's our duty to protect those who enter our land. But..."
He stepped closer, his head tilting ever so slightly.
"There's more to it, isn't there?" he asked. "You wear that pendant like it's the only thing that belongs to you."
She looked down at it again. Her fingers curled protectively over it, though she didn't know why.
Dominic's voice came next. "You're not from the capital. No one recognized you. There are no missing persons matching your features. And yet... you were found barely breathing just beyond the western woods of north"
Acacia didn't flinch, but the ache between her ribs pulsed dully at the words.
"I don't know where I came from," she said. "I only know that when I opened my eyes, everything before that was... gone."
Astor moved toward the window, glancing out at the pine horizon. "Then maybe it's a good thing. Not everyone's past is worth remembering."
Dominic gave his brother a quiet glance. "Don't project."
Astor grinned faintly. "Just saying. Sometimes starting over is a blessing."
They turned back to her. It was Dominic who spoke next, formal but not unkind.
"If you choose to stay here, you will be treated as one of us. You'll have your own quarters, your own name, your own choice."
She swallowed. Her throat felt tight.
It was not the name she was born with.
But it was the first name someone had given her with care.
"Acacia," she whispered aloud, testing it.
Astor's eyes warmed. "It suits you."
Dominic gave a slight nod, then straightened. "Until later, if you need anything, send a word."
"And if you're bored," Astor said, "you'll find me near the stables or in the library. We don't keep prisoners here."
They moved to leave, but Acacia called out before she understood why.
"Wait."
The brothers turned back.
"I don't know who I was," she said slowly. "I don't know who I'm meant to be. But… thank you. For not looking at me like I'm broken."
Astor's smile was gentler this time. "You're not broken. You just haven't remembered your shape yet."
Dominic gave a faint incline of his head. "Rest well, Lady Acacia."
Then they left.
Later that evening, the Duke and Duchess gathered with Dominic, Astor, Acacia and with households closest advisors in the drawing room.
Duke Nathaniel's presence was commanding yet quiet. His dark brown hair streaked with silver, his grey eyes steady and thoughtful as they fixed on Acacia.
Beside him, the Duchess spoke softly, her tone measured but warm. "We cannot send her away, not now, not with so little known of who she truly is," she said. "She was found within our borders, in need of shelter and healing. It would be better to take care of her until her true family is found."
Nathaniel nodded, eyes reflecting both resolve and the burden of responsibility. "This is no small decision, but it is just. She has the right to choose."
A silence fell.
Then, in her quiet voice, Acacia spoke, "I don't remember my past, but… I want to try. To stay here for now."
The Duchess smiled softly. "Then it is decided. You will be staying with us, until you find your way home."
And so, a new chapter began, one of fragile trust, uncertain memories, and the slow weaving of belonging.
Outside, the snow continued to fall in delicate silence, the world remade inch by inch.