By early afternoon, the carriage rolled to a stop at the front steps of the Ashcroft estate. The air here was sharper, brushing against the high stone walls like a whisper long withheld.
Acacia stepped down carefully, supported by Dominic on one side and Astor on the other. The journey had left her drained, though she did not say it aloud.
The grand doors opened before they even knocked. The Duke and Duchess stood waiting at the entrance, their expressions tight with concern.
"My dear," the Duchess breathed, rushing forward. Her hands fluttered briefly before settling on Acacia's shoulders. "We heard what happened. You must rest. There's no need to push yourself."
"Stay in for the next few days," the Duke added, voice warm but firm.
Acacia gave a small nod, unable to say much in return. Her throat still carried the taste of lake water and her body still remembered the cold that had pulled her under.
Dominic exchanged a look with the Duke, a silent confirmation that all else had been handled. Astor, for once, said nothing as he followed the others inside.
The estate closed around her like a familiar lull. Safe. Still. And yet, beneath the quiet, something within Acacia remained unsettled.
Acacia sat in her room for a while in silence, still in her travel cloak. Then slowly, she sank into the bed, her eyes fluttering closed from the fatigue.
She didn't remember falling asleep.
When she woke, the light had shifted to a muted amber.
Later, she joined the family in the dining hall, after changing into comfortable clothes, a quieter setting than usual.
The long table wasn't fully filled but the warmth of the dishes and flickering candles lent a kind sense of familiarity. Astor was already halfway through a bowl of soup and grinned when she walked in.
"You look less ghostly," he announced dramatically. " Impressive."
Acacia gave him a look but it lacked real annoyance.
Dominic didn't say much but when she sat down, a plate was already filled for her. Someone, likely him, had remembered her preference for more spice and extra bread.
She ate slowly, her appetite still unsure but the taste grounded her. After everything, the lake, the dreamlike moments, the stillness that followed, she was home.
And somehow that felt heavier and lighter all at once.
That evening, after the meal had quieted her body and the warmth of rest had settled in her limbs, Acacia found herself in the eastern sitting room. The walls were bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, the shadows stretched long across the marbled floor and the fire crackled low.
Dominic sat nearby in a high-backed chair, posture composed, eyes flicking toward her now and then. Astor lounged by the window seat, legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head, watching the stars begin to gather beyond the glass.
Between them, Acacia sat cross-legged on the rug, charcoal in hand, sketching slowly on a scrap of parchment. Her brow furrowed in concentration as the outline of a crown, runes etched faintly into its base and a hint of wings unfurling behind above the crown, a flame rose, sharp, bright, flickering with movement despite the stillness of the page. Her strokes were uncertain but her hand moved with a strange familiarity.
Dominic leaned forward slightly, the firelight catching the edge of his gaze. "That symbol," he said carefully, "where did you see it?"
Astor's head turned from the window, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the image. For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then the two brothers exchanged a brief, knowing look, one that said they might have an idea what it was. And who it once belonged to.
"I saw it, when I fell into the lake," Acacia said, her voice barely above a whisper.
They both looked up. Dominic straightened slightly. Astor sat upright.
They might have an idea what crest it was.
But neither said it aloud. Not yet.
Dominic's gaze sharpened. "Do you think you've seen it before? From… before?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "It didn't feel new. It felt like it belonged to me once or maybe… to someone I loved."
Dominic's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, thoughtful, unreadable.
Acacia's thumb brushed over the sketched lines, the crown, its base etched with runes in a forgotten tongue, flanked by wings that arched outward like shields and a single flame hovering above it, suspended mid-flicker. Her breath caught.
Dominic said, "That crest belonged to the first sovereign of the Grey bloodline. Legend says it was gifted by the Flameborn, a guardian spirit said to watch over those who lead not with fear but with clarity. The flame is vision. The wings, protection. The crown… duty."
She glanced up, unsure why the words struck something deep in her chest, like a bell tolling in a forgotten cathedral.
Astor leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed with interest. "You know what they say, right? That even after the crest was changed, the royals of Valeriath didn't erase the old one completely. One still hangs in the east wing of the palace, tucked behind velvet drapes, as a sign of remembrance."
Dominic nodded once. "After the succession wars, they altered it. Crown above an hourglass, as sand falls through the hourglass, it shifts into the shape of a phoenix mid-flight. Wings on either side of glass. A symbol of time reclaiming glory."
Acacia's fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the parchment.
Astor gestured lazily toward her chest. "Even your pendant… it's oddly similar. The wings, the crown, it's not exact but close enough to make someone wonder.
Acacia's eyes dropped to the pendent she was wearing.
He said it almost casually but his voice dipped at the end "You ever wonder… if you're from there? Valeriath?"
The question didn't hit like a suggestion. It rang like an echo. Familiar, distant and wrong only in its timing. She didn't respond.
But something in her gaze betrayed the pull of it. Not recognition. Not yet. Just the shape of something waiting to return.
The parchment crinkled slightly beneath her fingers. She hadn't realized how hard she was pressing down. The lines she had drawn, delicate curves, soft graphite shadows, looked older now, as if they'd always existed and she had only revealed them.
"They say one of the royal daughters vanished not too long ago," Astor said, voice quieter now. "Disappeared from the Valeriath court without a trace... Just… gone."
A pause. The fire crackled in the hearth.
"People still whisper about it," he added. "Some think she ran. Others think she was taken. But no one really knows what became of her."
Dominic didn't speak but his gaze lingered on the pendant, then drifted toward the parchment in her hand."The crest," he said, almost to himself. "And your pendant… both carry pieces of Valeriath's legacy."