As the wheels turned and the palace faded behind her, Acacia let herself exhale, not fully relaxed, but lighter somehow. The kind of lightness that came with lavender air and the promise of friends who wouldn't ask her to explain why her eyes had been shadowed lately.
Just sugar. Laughter. Begonia waving dramatically.
And maybe, just maybe, a few moments of peace.
The city felt louder than usual, in noise and in color. Market stalls bloomed open along the avenues, vibrant with fresh produce and summer silks. Petals from the arcade's overhanging vines drifted lazily through the breeze, catching in passersby's hair. The scent of candied almonds and lemon tarts trailed through the air.
Acacia stood at the edge of the square, flanked discreetly by two of the Ashcroft guards. Their presence was quiet but unmistakable, a shadow tucked behind each corner.
Ahead, the new ice cream shop stood like a jewel box, pastel-painted walls, handwritten menu boards fluttering slightly in the wind. A modest crowd had already gathered around the counter, most of them sun-flushed and cheerful, sleeves rolled and coins clinking in their palms.
"Acacia!"
Begonia waved with both arms, nearly elbowing Lyra in the face. The younger girl gave her a look of theatrical betrayal, rubbing her nose with exaggerated flair. Sienna stood beside them, arms folded, with that usual unreadable expression that somehow still managed to say, we've been waiting too long and I'm judging all of you.
"You came," Begonia grinned, tugging Acacia forward. "I told them you might not, that you're becoming mysterious lately."
"I think she's always been mysterious," Lyra added, eyeing her spoon. "Especially if she doesn't pick blueberry fig."
"Don't even," Begonia groaned. "She's still convinced you cried on purpose to guilt Argan."
Lyra gasped. "That is slander."
"It's the truth."
"It's called emotional strategy," Lyra huffed. "Which, by the way, worked. He paid."
Sienna raised a brow. "He always pays."
"Exactly," Lyra said, triumphant. "Therefore, strategy."
Acacia laughed, a soft sound that startled even her for a second.
"There you all are," Irene called, weaving between two carriages and joining the group, cheeks flushed and strands of hair escaping her braid. "What did I miss?"
"Just Lyra admitting to psychological warfare," Sienna replied dryly.
Irene blinked, then smiled. "Ah. A normal day, then."
"Do we get ice cream now or are we philosophizing hunger?" she said after a pause
"Both," Begonia declared. "And then we sit and make terrible life decisions."
"Oh, please," Lyra rolled her eyes. "Your worst decision today was your outfit."
Begonia gasped. "I will fight you. Not here but soon."
The girls dissolved into laughter, their voices threading through the warm afternoon like ribbons. A small dog barked in the distance and a paper cone tumbled off a bench, rolling beneath a carriage wheel. Sunlight clung to everything.
Acacia stepped forward to accept her cone, pistachio rose, delicate and pale as spring. Just as the vendor handed it over, someone brushed past her from behind, quick, too close, with no apology. The contact was barely more than fabric against fabric but her body stiffened.
She turned slightly, scanning the crowd.
A man was walking away, head lowered beneath a hood. Nothing unusual and yet…
Just wind. Just people.
Still, her eyes flicked toward the edge of the alley beside the shop. Empty. A basket of tulips rustled where the breeze slipped past.
"Hey," Begonia's voice broke through, light but watchful. "You alright?"
Acacia looked down at her ice cream cone, blinked once, then met her friend's gaze with a practiced smile.
"Yes," she said. "It's just nothing."
But something inside her, some strange, leftover instinct, whispered otherwise.
Just a few paces away, one of the Ashcroft guards shifted subtly. Not enough to alarm, not enough to be noticed by most but Acacia caught it. A quiet readjustment of stance, hand brushing the hilt at his side. His gaze didn't follow the girls but lingered on the retreating hooded figure, lips pressed into a thin line.
The man said nothing. Neither did she.
But their silence folded into each other like a shared understanding.
Begonia, oblivious, licked her spoon and nudged Acacia's arm. "You zoned out again. Are you plotting murder or monologues?"
"Maybe both," Lyra offered helpfully. "She's been reading those dramatic novels again."
Acacia managed a small laugh, shaking her head. "Just thinking about nothing."
Then let your brain keep floating," Irene said, nudging her shoulder gently. "No one's allowed to be serious today, not even you.
And so they moved toward the bench beneath the white-blossomed tree, a cluster of girls laughing in the breeze.
The cones slowly disappeared, one lick at a time, with the occasional swipe to catch melting drips before they could stain gloves or sleeves. Sienna declared elderpear ice cream "acceptable," which was as close to reverence as she got. Begonia insisted her second scoop tasted like perfume and Irene offered to "rescue" it from her with heroic flair.
"Shall we walk?" Sienna suggested, tossing her napkin into a bin. "The flower arcade's just around the corner. I heard the sun orchids are in bloom."
"Oh, let's," Begonia clasped her hands. "I need something fragrant to cleanse the trauma of floral ice cream."
"You picked jasmine caramel," Lyra reminded her.
"And I will regret it for the rest of my life."
They strolled out together, skirts swaying lightly, the breeze combing through the lingering warmth of late afternoon. The streets near the arcade were bathed in golden light, the kind that made everything look softer, quieter, like a memory unfolding in real time.
The flower arcade curved beneath hanging trellises woven thick with vines. Petals drifted from above like slow-falling confetti. Rows of market stalls lined either side, bursting with fresh blooms, tulips, lilacs, sun orchids, tiny jars of pressed violets and sachets of dried herbs.
Sienna paused to sniff a cluster of sugar daisies. "Do you think these are real?"
"Depends," Irene said. "Are you planning to eat one?"
"...No?"
"Then yes, they're real."
A ripple of laughter passed through them again. Acacia lingered a little behind, letting the conversation blur into the rustle of leaves overhead and the murmur of foot traffic. Her fingers trailed the edge of a wooden cart where a seller arranged bouquets into woven cones.
It was peaceful.
The girls wandered deeper into the flower arcade, where the late spring blooms spilled color across every stall, soft peonies, golden marigolds and wild orchids that shimmered faintly in the light. A few stalls had trays of seeds tucked beneath baskets, rare ones, the kind said to grow only under moonlight or with whispered wishes.
Sienna picked out a bundle of pink freesia, sniffing it with dramatic flair before handing over a coin. Irene chose a pot of baby bluebells, claiming it would "go with her windowsill's melancholy." Begonia debated for far too long between white violets and forget-me-nots, until Acacia gently nudged the latter into her hands.
Acacia herself picked a small pouch of pale green seeds labeled Lunaria noctis, moonflower, the vendor explained with a wink. "Blooms only at night, but when it does… it glows."
They took their time, their baskets fuller, voices softer. The sky above had begun to smudge into amber and lilac. Sunlight clung lazily to the rooftops, stretching shadows long and golden.
"We should head back," Irene said eventually, tucking her flowers beneath one arm. "If we wait any longer, Sienna will buy an entire orchard."
"I have no regrets," Sienna declared, arms overflowing.
Acacia laughed again, quieter this time.
As they turned down the cobbled lane that led back toward the waiting carriages, the wind picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of blossoms.
That was when Irene muttered something under her breath.
"What is it?" Sienna asked.
"My carriage," Irene sighed, gesturing toward the side where her coachman stood scratching his head, the front wheel tilted awkwardly. "It gave up on life, apparently."
Begonia squinted. "Looks like it lost a duel with a pothole."
"I knew I heard something snap when we arrived," Irene groaned, rubbing her temples.
Without hesitation, Acacia stepped forward. "Ride with me."
Irene blinked. "Oh, no, I couldn't impose..."
"You're not," Acacia said with a small smile. "There's enough space and it's on the way."
It was a simple offer but it softened something in Irene's expression. She hesitated only a moment before nodding, grateful.
As the others climbed into their own carriages, waving and calling out last-minute farewells, Acacia and Irene stepped into hers, the Ashcroft crest glinting on the dark lacquered door. The interior smelled faintly of cedar and dried lilac from the sachet tucked in the corner.
Outside, the guards mounted their horses again, forming a quiet formation around the coach as it pulled away, an ever-present reminder of the world Acacia now lived in, even on a day like this.
But inside the carriage, it was calm.
And maybe, in its own way, a little safe.
The wheels creaked as the carriage rolled over uneven stones, the muffled rhythm like a heartbeat beneath their feet. For a few moments, neither spoke.
She tilted her head. "You didn't have to offer, you know. Most girls would've used the moment to quietly disappear."
Acacia smiled faintly, her gaze out the window. "I don't disappear. I just… pause."
Irene raised her brow, clearly amused. "That sounds like something Begonia would embroider on a pillow."
Acacia let out a small laugh and then silence drifted again, comfortable this time.
Then Irene spoke, quieter. "You're different lately."
Acacia turned slightly. "In what way?"
"I don't know," Irene said, fidgeting with a tassel on her sleeve. "It's like you're here… but not always. Like part of you is watching everything from someplace else."
That observation landed more accurately than Irene could've known. Acacia didn't answer at once.
"I suppose," she finally said, voice quiet, "some of us carry echoes."
Irene studied her, thoughtful. "Well, you carry them elegantly."
Acacia gave her a surprised look and for a second, the mask Irene usually wore cracked, just a little.
"Just don't forget you're not alone in here," Irene added, lightly tapping the seat cushion. "Even if you try to be."
Acacia nodded slowly. She didn't say thank you but the glance she gave Irene said enough.
Outside, the sun dipped just below the city's rooftops. The sky wore the color of pressed violets.
And the carriage rolled on.