One afternoon, Duchess Mirena Ashcroft visited Acacia in her room, wrapped in robes the color of deep pine, her presence quiet but commanding. Her hair was swept into a coiled bun and a brooch of a winged crown glinted faintly on her chest.
"It's time," the duchess said softly.
Acacia turned, setting the untouched cup down beside her. "Time?"
Mirena gave a small nod, her face unreadable. "To meet the ones who shape this empire". Acacia blinked. "Me?"
"You are a part of our family now," the Duchess said firmly. "We are going to visit the winter court tomorrow and this court is going to be a part of your new world."
She moved to the couch, gesturing for Acacia to sit. "You must understand what you're stepping into, child."
Acacia sat quietly as the Duchess continued, her voice calm but laced with a kind of ancestral pride.
"There are five great noble houses, each one a pillar that holds up the weight of Solerith. Their power does not lie only in bloodlines. It lies in legacy. In silence. In loyalty... or betrayal." We are one of them: House Ashcroft, guardians of the North. We are the Empire's wall, the first to war, the last to retreat. Our emblem is the black stag crowned in fire, standing upon a cliff."
"The others?" she asked softly.
The Duchess nodded.
"House Seymour, the golden merchants, clever, ambitious, rich beyond measure. They deal in treaties and whispers. Their gold fills the coffers. Argan Seymour, their heir… you may hear his name often. Their crest bore a single silverish gold leaf, veined like a map, set against a compass rose etched in midnight blue."
"Then comes House Walter, who enforce the law and preside over courts. Their judgment is harsh but fair. Myron Walteris the eldest son. A sharp mind. Their crest is a hooded owl holding a pair of scales in its talons"
She paused for breath, her gaze sharpening.
"House Woods, the keepers of magic, history, and prophecy. The quietest of the five, and the most feared in their way. Their eldest Lady Begonia Woods is… difficult to forget once met. Their archives run deeper than most empires. Their crest A tree with one side of its branches made of leaves, the other of stars, with roots wrapped around a book."
Then her voice dropped a note lower.
"And the fifth, House Veltorin. The shadow among pillars. They do not speak unless needed, but when they do, the empire listens. They handle internal affairs, spies, and secrets no one else dares touch. Seren Veltorin,their eldest son, leads the line now. Their crest is the Coiled serpent around a silver dagger,"
Acacia tilted her head.
"They sound... ominous."
"They are necessary," the Duchess replied. "Where we defend borders and armies, Veltorin guards the empire from within. Intelligence, espionage, secrets. They are the Empire's ears and sometimes its silent blade. Discreet, loyal, and unshakable. If Seymour writes the treaties, Veltorin ensures they hold."
She looked at Acacia then, as if measuring her reaction.
"They are not villains. But if ever a house could be both friend and warning... It is Veltorin. Always watching. Always remembering."
Acacia blinked slowly and took in the names, the weight behind each. "And the court… ?"
For a moment, the Duchess stilled.
"The Winter Court , It is a place of force. A gathering of those whose power cannot be bound by bloodlines. Advisors, emissaries, manipulators, magicians. They walk through doors others do not even see. They shape perception."
Acacia swallowed. "And… will veltorins, will they be there tomorrow?"
A nod. "The nobles attend the Ceremony of winter court every year, you must not fear them, but you must never forget what they are."
Later that night…
Snow clung to the windowpanes like crystal frost-lace. Acacia sat curled on the window seat, wrapped in a quilt, tracing the pendant at her throat.
The room dimmed as a voice stirred from the doorway. "Can't sleep?"
Astor leaned against the frame, his shirt unlaced at the throat, hair damp from snow or steam, she couldn't tell which.
She shook her head. "Dreams again."
He crossed the room and sat beside her. "They'll pass."
"How do you know?"
"They always do," he said, looking out at the forest. "Or they change."
Acacia glanced at him. "Do you dream?"
Astor gave her a small, sideways smile. "Only when I've drunk too much cider."
She snorted softly, the first laugh she'd let herself have since waking here.
He turned to her then, serious. "I heard what mother told you, don't be afraid of the court tomorrow."
"I'm not afraid, I just... Why do I feel like I've done this before?" she murmured.
"Maybe you have," he said. "Maybe this is a second beginning."