The atmosphere in the new Wynfall mansion was warm and peaceful on the surface—servants bustling with cheerful efficiency as they unpacked crates of delicate decorations, chefs humming while preparing ingredients for Arlienne's birthday feast in the spacious kitchens. Laughter echoed occasionally from the gardens where Astra tested floating lanterns, and the faint scent of fresh-baked pastries mingled with blooming flowers carried in from the enchanted grounds.
But beneath the cheer, a heavy tension lingered like storm clouds on a clear day.
Aster sat at the grand oak table in the sunlit parlor, reading the queen's letter for the third time. His expression remained blank, carefully controlled, but his silver eyes burned with quiet fury.
Finally, he folded the parchment with deliberate precision and set it aside.
"Mama," he said calmly, voice steady despite the storm inside, "don't reply."
Arlienne stiffened mid-arrangement of blue roses in a crystal vase. "Aster…"
He lifted his chin, conviction radiating from him like mana before a spell.
"Let's see what she does first. I'm not ignoring your birthday to sing for that woman."
Astra nodded immediately from her spot on the floor, surrounded by ribbon spools. "Exactly! Why should we? It's your day, Mama!"
Seraphine, helping hang streamers nearby, crossed her arms with a proud grin. "Finally someone says it out loud. I've been waiting years for this family to push back."
Lyria, more cautious, glanced worriedly at Arlienne. "But… refusing the queen directly could—"
Aster cut in gently but firmly. "If it comes down to it… we can leave this country."
The room fell deathly silent.
Arlienne froze completely, vase forgotten in her hands. "Aster—!"
He looked at her with gentle reassurance, though his eyes held steel. "Do you remember when Astra and I performed at Prince Eldric's wedding in Newren Kingdom?"
Astra giggled despite the tension, perking up. "He was such a fanboy! Kept asking how we made the beats without instruments."
Aster's lips curved in a faint smirk. "He nearly fainted when he learned we were only nine. And afterward, he pulled me aside—offered full patronage if we ever wanted to relocate. Said Newren would support our music without question. Royal residence, resources, protection—everything."
Arlienne's eyes widened, hand pressing to her chest. "Son… moving kingdoms isn't that simple. Politics, alliances, royal bloodlines—leaving would be seen as betrayal. The king would never allow—"
"I'm not planning to run away today," Aster interrupted softly, stepping closer to take her free hand. "But I'm also not letting anyone threaten our freedom. We've built too much. Earned too much. We have options now—because of our music."
Arlienne searched his face—seeing not just her eleven-year-old son, but the ancient soul behind those silver eyes.
She exhaled slowly, worry warring with pride.
"…Fine. I trust your judgment."
Aster's smile softened genuinely. "Thank you, Mama."
Astra bounced over to hug her waist. "See? We'll be okay!"
Seraphine clapped Aster on the back—perhaps a bit too hard. "That's my little brother! Already thinking like a strategist."
Lyria still looked anxious. "Just… be careful. The queen doesn't lose gracefully."
Aster's expression darkened briefly. "I know."
***
The next morning dawned bright and crisp.
Aster sat at his polished desk in the new study—sunlight streaming through tall windows overlooking the gardens.
He dipped a fine quill into ink.
Wrote a single word on heavy parchment.
*NO.*
No salutation.
No explanation.
No apology.
Just stark refusal.
He sealed it with plain wax—no crest, no flourish.
Handed it to the most trusted messenger.
"Deliver this directly to the queen's private chambers. No one else."
The man paled, recognizing the address, but bowed deeply. "As you wish, young master."
As the horse galloped down the hill toward the capital, Astra peeked into the study, eyes wide.
"You're scary sometimes," she whispered, half in awe, half nervous.
Seraphine, passing in the hall with decoration boxes, overheard and laughed. "He definitely gets the boldness from Father's side."
Lyria, trailing behind, shook her head softly. "No… he's worse. Father's bold, but Aster's… calculated."
Aster emerged, smirking faintly. "You haven't seen anything yet."
Word spread through the mansion like wildfire.
The queen commanded performance.
Aster replied with one word: *NO.*
Maids whispered in kitchens.
Guards exchanged glances at posts.
Servants panicked quietly for a full hour—fearing royal wrath, job loss, worse.
But strangely…
None of the inner family tried to stop him.
Seraphine crossed arms proudly in the parlor later. "You did the right thing. She deserved that slap in the face."
Lyria nodded, brushing hair back nervously but with quiet approval. "I've wanted to tell that woman 'no' for years. Thank you for finally doing it—for all of us."
Arlienne sighed deeply, rubbing temples as she oversaw packing in the main hall. "This family is going to cause an international incident one day…"
Astra hugged her from behind, giggling. "Mamaaa, it's fine! Nothing bad will happen!"
Arlienne muttered under breath, though a reluctant smile tugged her lips:
"That's exactly what people say right before everything goes wrong."
Yet she didn't countermand Aster's reply.
She trusted him.
***
Meanwhile, Aster and Astra threw themselves into birthday preparations—channeling tension into joy.
They invited a carefully curated guest list:
- A handful of friendly nobles who had supported them quietly over years.
- Key merchants close to Liora Arcwell—Elira's daughter, now managing expansion.
- Engineers who had co-created the Harmonia Player—gruff but loyal geniuses.
- Childhood friends from capital streets—Aster's old market pals grown taller.
- Beloved street vendors: Old Man Hervin, Mila the florist (now with her own chain), Tomas and Lira the bakers.
- Even common families who had championed them since the first plaza concert—letters of support still treasured.
A deliberate mix: nobles and commoners side by side.
Something the queen despised—blurring class lines.
Something Aster loved—true unity through music.
"We'll make this the best party Mama ever had," Astra declared enthusiastically while testing lantern runes in the garden.
Aster smiled, adjusting a Harmonia speaker. "We will. Bigger than any palace ball—because it's real."
They decorated gardens with hundreds of floating lanterns—enchanted to shift blue and silver.
Set up premium Harmonia systems—newest speakers for crystal-clear playback.
Prepared surprise performance: three soft, deeply personal songs just for Arlienne.
Chefs planned feast blending palace elegance with market comfort—roasted mana-boar, fresh breads, delicate pastries, hearty stews.
Everything felt perfect.
Peaceful.
Hopeful.
Until—
Late afternoon, a loud knock thundered through halls.
Three sharp, urgent bangs.
Everyone froze mid-task.
Arlienne—overseeing table settings—looked toward entrance.
"…Who could that be?"
A maid hurried to answer.
Returned moments later, trembling.
"M-my lady… a messenger from the palace…"
Aster's eyes narrowed instantly—instinct sharp.
Astra grabbed his wrist, heart racing.
Seraphine's expression darkened like gathering clouds.
Lyria swallowed nervously.
Arlienne inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
"Let him in."
The palace messenger entered—uniform pristine but face sweating, bowing so deeply forehead nearly touched marble.
"L-Lady Arlienne… His Majesty requests…"
Aster raised brow.
"His Majesty?"
Not the queen?
Messenger gulped, extending sealed envelope—royal crimson wax, king's personal crest.
"Yes… the king himself requests—"
Arlienne hesitated, then accepted.
Aster watched closely—every flicker in her expression.
She broke seal slowly.
Unfolded.
Eyes scanned.
A gust of wind swept through open hall—unseasonal, sudden.
Candles flickered wildly.
Lanterns swayed.
Aster felt twist in chest—ominous, dangerous, inevitable.
Astra gripped hand tighter.
"Aster… something feels wrong."
"Yes," he whispered.
Everyone held breath as Arlienne read.
Her face…
Changed.
Calm mask cracked.
Eyes darkened.
Hardened.
She exhaled quietly—long, controlled.
Lowered letter.
Aster stepped forward.
"Mama… what did he say?"
Arlienne's voice calm—too calm.
"…He says the queen wishes you to attend her birthday celebration."
Astra frowned sharply. "And you? What about your birthday?"
Arlienne held up letter—hand steady but knuckles pale.
"He says… after celebrating the queen's, we may celebrate mine in the palace as well."
Room froze.
Arlienne continued reading aloud—tone flat, controlled:
*'I apologize for past oversights in invitations.'*
*'Please join with your children.'*
*'It would honor us.'*
Silence stretched—heavy, disbelieving.
Astra's eyes widened. "That's all?!"
Seraphine scoffed loudly. "He's asking you to walk into that viper's nest like eleven years of neglect never happened?!"
Lyria shook head. "Unbelievable…"
Aster clenched fists—knuckles white.
"So the king wants us to celebrate the queen first… and yours second? Like an afterthought?"
Arlienne smiled sadly—bitter edge beneath.
"He is trying to make peace, Aster."
Aster's voice sharpened.
"No. He's avoiding angering his queen—while pretending to care."
Arlienne looked away—pain flickering.
Aster continued, fury rising.
"He didn't even come in person."
Arlienne stiffened.
"He calls us children—but visited how many times in eleven years?"
Astra stepped closer. "Aster…"
"He claims wisdom—but sends paper apologies?"
Seraphine muttered: "Because he's her lapdog…"
Arlienne didn't correct.
For first time—didn't defend.
Expression tired.
Worn.
Deeply hurt.
She looked down at letter again.
"…He didn't even write my name properly. Just 'Lady Arlienne and children.'"
Astra's heart stung.
Aster's anger darkened—protective, fierce.
Then—
Arlienne quietly tore letter.
Rip.
Another.
Seven deliberate rips.
Until king's words scattered like worthless scraps.
She dusted hands—as if removing dirt.
"It's nothing serious," she said softly—though voice wavered. "Let's focus on tomorrow. Our home. Our celebration. That's what matters."
Aster stared—seeing her quiet anger for first time.
Astra stared too.
Their gentle, patient mother—pushed to silent breaking.
Arlienne turned with forced smile—eyes not quite reaching.
"We'll celebrate peacefully. Just us. As real family."
Aster approached slowly.
"Mama… are you really okay?"
She brushed cheek—touch warm, steady.
"Yes. I'm used to it."
Aster's eyes trembled.
Used to what?
Being ignored?
Overshadowed?
Treated as inconvenient despite raising royal heirs alone?
Arlienne forced brighter smile.
"Don't worry. Let palace do as it pleases. It's nothing serious."
But Aster knew.
Astra knew.
Sisters knew.
It *was* serious.
Queen wouldn't accept rejection.
King wouldn't stand against her.
Twins drew national adoration—threatening her image.
Refusal wounded pride.
And Aster's one-word reply…
Would ignite storm.
***
Still, Arlienne insisted forward motion.
Rest of day filled purposeful activity:
- Packing cherished items—family portraits, childhood drawings, treasured instruments.
- Setting aside decorations—saving for new home's halls.
- Arranging transportation—caravans for belongings, carriages for family.
- Planning birthday feast—menus blending elegance and comfort.
- Preparing new mansion—servants ahead ensuring readiness.
Astra decorated lanterns—testing glow runes with giggles.
Aster calibrated Harmonia speakers—fine-tuning for surprise performance.
Seraphine arranged gift table—wrapping final presents with flair.
Lyria wove flower garlands—delicate blues and whites.
Arlienne supervised—soft smile masking hurt.
But Aster saw sadness in eyes.
Hated it.
Hated palace's casual cruelty.
Hated queen's arrogance.
Hated king's weakness.
Evening found him on balcony—sunset painting capital gold.
Astra approached quietly.
"Aster… you angry?"
He didn't answer immediately—gaze fixed on distant palace spires.
"…Furious."
Astra took hand—squeezed gently.
"Then let's make Mama's birthday unforgettable."
He turned—curious.
"What do you mean?"
She smiled—soft, bright, mischievous gleam.
"We're singers, Aster. Let's give Mama gift no queen could steal."
Aster blinked.
Then smiled—slow, matching mischief.
"Yeah… you're right."
In quiet agreement—twins began planning.
Not refusal alone.
But celebration louder than any command.
Music as answer.
Love as defiance.
Storm coming.
But they would meet it singing.
And world would listen.