Golden sunlight spilled through tall windows, warming the shiny floors.
Sher sat at a small table by the window, a simple plate of eggs in front of her.
Across from her, Karthius kicked his legs under the chair, cheeks puffed with food, eyes sparkling.
"This is so yummy! You're the best cook ever, Momma!" he said, mouth full.
He held up a spoon toward her, like she was the kid.
"Say aaah~!"
Sher blinked. Her heart felt weird, tight, like it was squeezing.
How can someone so small take up so much space in my chest?
But then—
Knock knock.
The door creaked open.
Cassian walked in, sharp as ever, composed. His eyes scanned the room. First the food. Then her. Then—
Karthius's syrup-smeared face.
Cassian stopped.
"…You cooked."
Not angry. Not accusing.
Just… disbelief.
Like he was staring at a painting that changed overnight.
"Papa!" Karthius beamed. "Momma made breakfast! And she ate with me too!"
Cassian stepped closer. His gaze stayed on Sher.
"…Well?" he asked careful.
She met his eyes, steady.
"You wanna eat?"
He froze mid-step.
That question—so casual—felt heavy, like a stone dropped in still water.
"You're offering me food now?"
He looked at the table. Eggs, bread, fruit. Simple. Not fancy. But real.
"You barely remember my name. Don't remember our past. And now… you're playing house?"
Silence fell.
"Papa, sit!" Karthius patted the chair. "I'll give you the big slice! Momma made it soft!"
Cassian looked at the chair, then at her.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Humans eat to live," Sher said dry. "Biology. Shocking, I know."
"See? Momma's smart now too!" Karthius snorted.
Cassian exhaled. Not quite laugh. Not quite sigh.
"…You sound nothing like her."
But still—he sat.
"We're eating together! Like a real family!" Karthius lit up.
Cassian's voice turned cool. "This doesn't change anything. But… I'll eat."
He took a bite.
No praise.
But he didn't stop.
Sher looked between them, feeling a rhythm she didn't know—but didn't hate.
"Karth, don't dress like your Papa. You're too cute for all that black and grey."
"But Papa says I look like a young lord!"
"And I wanna wear yellow! Papa only wears… boring."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "Discipline isn't found in color. And dignity doesn't come in frills."
"But Momma says I can be cute and brave."
He leaned into her proudly.
"Right, Momma?"
She smiled. "Yes. Deadly and adorable. Just like Momma."
"Deadly cute!! Like a kitten with a sword!"
He waved his fork like a blade.
Cassian almost smiled.
Almost.
"Can I wear yellow pants today?"
"Of course, my little kitten."
"Yaaay!"
He ran off, already planning.
Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose.
"What are you turning him into?"
"Someone who'll survive, smile, and fight—without turning into you."
Cassian stared.
His voice low.
"…Where was this version of you five years ago?"
"Do you always insult your wife before tea? I still don't get how you two had a child."
He froze.
Silence. Heavy. Tense.
"You weren't always cruel," he said soft. "When I met you, you were proud. Fierce. Not… cruel."
A breath.
"Then marriage. Nobility. And you changed."
He stood.
"So when you ask how we had a child… we didn't. You gave birth. But we never had him."
He turned to the door. Paused.
"…Until now."
---
Outside Sher's Room
Before she could answer, knock.
A servant stepped in, eyes wide.
"My Lord, My Lady… sorry. A carriage is at the gate."
She looked at Sher, hesitant.
"Marchioness Elentra. She wants a private talk with the Duchess."
Cassian's jaw tightened.
"…That viper never comes without fangs."
Sher tilted her head. "Should I worry?"
"You were friends. Once."
He stepped closer.
"Widowed young. Controls half the western trade. Dresses like royalty, gossips like a maid, plans like a general."
Pause.
"If you're not the Sher I married… then yes. You should worry."
---
Front Steps
The carriage stopped.
Out came a tall figure—lace hat, shiny boots, dripping wealth and calculation.
Sher sighed.
"Can't you just tell her I'm dead or something?"
Cassian blinked. "…Tempting."
"But you're alive. Corrupting our son with yellow pants and soft smiles."
He crossed arms.
"If I turn her away, she assumes worse. And when Elentra assumes, people lose land, money, marriages."
He glanced out the window.
"She brought gifts. That means hunting."
Then back to Sher.
"Can you pretend to be the Sher she knows? Just a few minutes?"
As he left, he added—
"If she probes, compliment her earrings. She feeds on flattery like cream to a cat."
---
Grand Salon
The room sparkled.
Marchioness Elentra stood perfect—refined, ruthless, unreadable.
"Ah… the Duchess lives."
She swept to Sher and took her hand.
"You never were good with fragile things. I worried."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Tell me, darling… do you remember your friends?"
Sher smiled. "I don't. But I'd love to meet a pretty lady again."
Blink. Beat.
"My, my. Amnesia made you charming."
She sat, eyes glittering.
"You used to call me a peacock with too much perfume."
"Now you flatter before gossip. Curious."
She sipped tea.
"What exactly do you remember?"
"That I'm around powerful, lovely people. But not our memories."
Elentra's eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Diplomatic."
She leaned forward.
"Remember swearing you'd rather die than eat breakfast with your husband and child?"
Outside, unseen—Cassian listened.
Sher tilted her head.
"Would you deny me if I said I'm the same woman?"
Elentra smiled. Not in her eyes.
"Sharp tongue. Soft words."
"I wonder what your husband thinks of this new version. Or we not gossiping about the Duke?"
"Hm. Well, this version of me doesn't seem to hate her family… sorry, but people better choose words wisely now."
She rose, pacing.
"Softer now. But not stupid. Dangerous."
She leaned close.
"Be careful, Sher. They don't trust what they can't guess."
"When threatened… they remove the threat."
Sher raised her brows.
"…They?"