A few days passed.
Spring had quietly bowed out, and the first signs of summer crept into the estate. The air turned gentler, drier. Sunlight lingered a little longer on stone corridors and warmed the marble floors by midday.
And then, just as the waiting threatened to stretch into forgetfulness, word finally arrived from House Veltorin.
A sealed missive, delivered through trusted channels, found its way to Duke Ashcroft's study.
The message was succinct but thorough: the seal in question, a golden sunburst and crescent blade, had once belonged to a sanctioned order operating within the Valeriath Empire. An elite clearance, granted directly by the royal family. But the faction had been blacklisted in recent years, stripped of recognition, disbanded quietly.
Though its records were scarce, Veltorin's spies confirmed that the symbol had not resurfaced officially since. There was no known activity, and no signs of movement along the northern borders.
A silence wrapped itself around the information, answered questions that birthed new uncertainties.
Acacia, meanwhile, found herself caught in a strange lull. Nothing unusual had happened since. No visions. No dreams. No sudden sparks of memory. But the unease hadn't vanished either. It simply lingered beneath the surface, quiet and patient.
That afternoon, Nathaniel stood by the window of his study, the letter from Veltorin still open in his hand. His gaze traced the distant treetops, brow furrowed in thought.
Dominic leaned against the desk behind him, arms crossed. "Why now?" he murmured. "Why resurface after years of silence?"
Nathaniel didn't answer at first. His thumb ran once more over the inked seal at the bottom of the parchment, the confirmation from Veltorin's network. The sigil traced back to a forgotten faction. A region that had once been part of the Valeriath Empire. Officially blacklisted. Royal clearance revoked.
"There's no movement near the northern borders yet," Nathaniel said finally. "But that doesn't mean there won't be."
"You think she's one of them?" Dominic asked, voice low.
Nathaniel didn't look up from the letter he was studying. "Possibly. The timing fits. The pendant, it all points to someone they lost. Or someone they want to erase."
Dominic's brow furrowed. "So what now?"
Nathaniel folded the paper slowly. "If she truly is of Valeriath blood… then her existence changes things. The Windsor court will want answers. The Greys even more."
"She has no memory of them."
"Which buys us time," Nathaniel said. "But not protection. Someone already knows and if word reaches the Greys the wrong way, we risk war, not reunion."
A quiet fell between them. Outside, the trees swayed gently, as if unaware that something old had stirred beneath the soil.
The day had a golden stillness to it. Not quite hot but warm enough that the breeze felt like a blessing. Outside her window, the garden was alive with sound, the lazy hum of bees, distant chirps, the rustle of leaves shifting under a sun that hadn't yet turned harsh. Somewhere, a fountain trickled in rhythm, almost melodic in its constancy.
She was still sitting by the window, turning over a pale green stone in her palm, one Astor had tossed at her days ago with a smirk and added "looks lucky enough", then a soft knock sounded.
One of the butlers entered, gloved hands folded neatly around a sealed envelope.
"A letter for you, my lady. Just arrived with the morning dispatch"
She reached for it slowly.
It was tied with a familiar pink ribbon, slightly askew, as if the sender had rushed to finish it in one go. The wax seal bore no official crest but it was in soft green color.
Begonia.
And somehow that alone made the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.
She untied the ribbon with careful fingers, smiling as the familiar scent of vanilla and rose drifted from the parchment. Begonia's handwriting danced across the page, energetic and slightly impatient, like it had been written mid-laugh.
Dearest Acacia,
There's a new ice cream shop near the flower arcade, opened just this week! The lines are ridiculous but apparently it's worth the madness. They serve lavender-honey and pistachio rose.
Lyra says the blueberry fig made her cry (though I think she was just being dramatic because Argan refused to pay for hers).
I've told everyone to meet me there this evening. Around sunset. Nothing fancy, just laughter, too much sugar and probably sienna dropping something on her dress again.
Come if you wish to. It would be lovely to have you with us.
You've been quiet lately. A little sunlight and nonsense might be good for your soul.
Warmly, — B.
Acacia traced a finger along the edge of the letter with a smile on her lips.
She could almost hear Begonia's voice in it, warm, persuasive, not asking for explanations, just offering something gentle. Something normal.
And for a brief moment, she let herself imagine it: the cobbled street bathed in sunset light, voices echoing beneath awnings, and the cool sweetness of lavender-honey melting on her tongue.
It was the kind of day that pretended danger didn't exist. The kind of invitation that made everything feel ordinary.
Even if just for a little while. Later she informed the duke about the outing.
That late afternoon sun spilled through the windows, casting soft golden streaks across the polished floor. The breeze carried the scent of lemon blossoms, and somewhere in the distance, a chorus of birdsong drifted through the open windows, weaving into the quiet hum of summer."
Acacia adjusted the pale scarf draped over her shoulder, watching her reflection. She had chosen something simple, a soft, sea-glass blue dress and her hair pinned loosely at the nape. Nothing too formal.
As she turned to leave, one of the butlers appeared at the threshold.
"Lady Acacia," he said, bowing slightly. "Duke Ashcroft has instructed that you be accompanied"
She blinked. "Accompanied?"
The man nodded. "Two of the house guards will walk at a distance. Unobtrusive, unless needed. His Grace insists it is merely for your comfort."
Of course, Nathaniel hadn't said anything directly. He rarely did. But his silences had weight, like ink settling at the bottom of a glass.
Acacia nodded once, quietly grateful. "Tell them not to hover."
"They've been briefed," the butler replied with a soft smile. "Enjoy your evening, my lady."
Outside, the carriage was already waiting, the Ashcroft crest etched subtly into the door. The two guards stood casually to the side, blending in with the late-afternoon bustle of the street.