The wails of the infant echoed through the long corridor, sharp and unyielding despite every lullaby and gentle sway the maids had tried. At last, one frantic maid rushed forward, clutching the tiny bundle close, her nerves fraying with every cry. The moment she entered the sunlit drawing room, the Duchess rose from her seat, her gaze softening as she held out her arms.
"Give her to me," the Duchess's voice rang clear and commanding, though her eyes softened at the sight of the infant.
The maid hesitated only for a heartbeat before gently placing the baby into the Duchess's arms.
Two months old. Fragile. Feather-light.
The Duke lingered nearby, tall and composed, though his hands stayed clasped firmly behind his back. His gaze was steady, but he dared not step closer.
"She's... so small," he murmured, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"She's perfect," the Duchess replied without looking at him, cradling the baby as though she had held her all her life.
Then, it happened.
Through the tall windows, a soft wind stirred - strange for the still winter air. Pink-white petals drifted in, their delicate forms spiraling lazily before settling over the Duchess's hair and the baby's blanket.
The maid gasped. "Camellias...? But the gardens are bare, Your Grace."
The Duchess's eyes lifted to the petals as one landed gently on the infant's cheek.
In the language of flowers, camellias whispered a promise: My destiny is in your hands.
The Duchess's arms tightened protectively around the child. "Then her destiny will be safe," she said quietly, almost to herself. "This life will not fail her."
From the corner of her eye, she saw her husband glance at the petals, his lips parting in silent wonder. For just a moment, his expression softened.
Outside, the petals continued to fall - a quiet blessing from the heavens.