The carriage wheels slowed on the frost-hardened path, their creaks swallowed by the hush that blanketed Asterhold, the capital of the Solerith Empire.
The city loomed like a dream chiseled from ice and memory: frost-glass towers piercing a pale sky, bridges etched with runes of protection, and the ancient flags of noble houses fluttering in the cold wind. The Winter Court was held within the ivory citadel that crowned the city, its gates adorned with silver and lined by guards clad in glacial-blue armor.
The Winter Court, the seasonal gathering held in the capital of the Solerith Empire during the coldest months. It's not an official event but a code phrase often used among nobility to mark the beginning of their true introduction into power. The children of the Five Pillar Houses are watched closely, not for childish mischief, but for signs of promise or danger.
Inside the carriage, Acacia sat very still.
Snow flurries swirled past the window, and beyond them, she caught glimpses of banners rising along the procession route, the proud stag of House Ashcroft among them, rendered in black with fire-tipped antlers, hooves poised against mountain stone.
Her cloak matched the house colors: deep violet trimmed in fur, the sigil clasp glinting at her shoulder Beneath her gown, the pendant throbbed softly. The hourglass inside is still unwinding, quiet, rhythmic, as if time itself was being measured in grains of forgotten memory.
When they stepped out into the snow-laced air, the other Pillar Houses were already assembling. Dozens of carriages glinted in the sunlight. Elegant figures spilled out in tailored silks and rich velvets, their crests stitched across shoulders and gloves, a quiet war of symbols and status.
The Winter Court was already abuzz with whispers.
That's her, isn't it? The girl from the woods...
No name, no past—
She wears something enchanted, they say. Or cursed.
She doesn't look dangerous. Just... odd. Too quiet.
Acacia kept her head high, though her fingers gripped her skirts tightly. The Winter Court was an expanse of glass and silver — an open hall laced with crystal-paneled ceilings and polished marble that shimmered like frost. Snow-dusted trees lined the edges of the court, their branches glimmering under gentle enchantments, and a soft orchestral hum floated from somewhere behind the ice-laced columns.
As the gathering began in earnest, Acacia stood beside her brothers, observing the ebb and flow of the court, Dominic and Astor flanked her, dressed in Ashcroft colors: deep violet and gold , the stag sigil embroidered over their hearts. Dominic wore the look of a soldier already grown, shoulders straight, jaw tight. Astor fidgeted, his eyes darting across every arrival with anxious curiosity. Amidst the crowd, she noticed him.
He stood a little apart from the rest, not too distant, but enough that the candlelight seemed to draw toward him, like it, too, had taken notice. He was slightly taller than her, his frame lean but well-shaped beneath a tailored coat of emerald and sable. Raven-black hair fell across his forehead, a few strands carelessly brushing his brow, as if wind had passed through him just moments before.
But it was his eyes that held her fast.
They were a shade of red she had never seen before, not the dull crimson of dried blood, but the vivid gleam of garnets under firelight, alive and mesmerizing. They weren't threatening, not exactly, but arresting. Eyes that seemed to shimmer when they moved, as if they caught hidden truths midair and tucked them quietly away.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't look away.
He turned, as though sensing her gaze, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met.
His lips curved into a faint smile, neither mocking nor polite, but knowing. Confident. As if he had already decided how this conversation would go before it even began.
Acacia looked away first, quickly, but not before a warm flush crept up the side of her neck.
"Who is that?" she asked, her voice just low enough for her brothers to hear.
Astor leaned slightly forward. "Argan Seymour. Heir to House Seymour. He talks too much, according to Father."
Dominic offered a grunt in agreement. "And smiles too easily. Don't let it fool you."
Acacia didn't respond.
She wasn't entirely sure what had just happened.
But she had a strange, unmistakable feeling… she had just been seen in a way that had nothing to do with titles or bloodlines.
And she wasn't sure yet if that thrilled her or unsettled her.
He didn't approach her immediately.
Instead, Argan lingered at the edge of a small group near the House Woods delegation, laughing easily at something Begonia said, the sound warm and smooth like summer wind brushing through frost. But after a few moments, his attention drifted back to her, unmistakably, and this time, he started walking.
Acacia didn't move. She felt Dominic's posture shift slightly beside her, the instinctive stance of an older brother preparing to block.
But Argan stopped at a polite distance and offered a graceful bow, not to the dukes at her side, but to her.
"Lady Acacia," he said, his voice like polished stone wrapped in velvet. "We haven't been introduced properly, though I've heard your name echoed more than once this week."
His gaze met hers, direct, but not unkind. Those red eyes shimmered again, like glass soaked in light, and for a moment, it was hard to remember what she had meant to say.
Acacia inclined her head carefully. "It seems your reputation moves ahead of you as well, Lord Seymour."
His lips quirked. "That sounds dangerously close to flattery."
"Or a warning," she replied.
He laughed, just once, a low, rich sound that made something in her chest tighten without warning. "Even better," he said. "That means I have a chance to surprise you."
Dominic shifted, his expression unreadable, and Acacia could feel the weight of both his and Astor's eyes pressing in on the exchange.
Argan glanced at her brothers with a respectful nod, then returned his attention to her with measured interest. "This seems to be your first Gathering."
She studied him for a beat, then nodded. "Yes. And you?"
"Oh, I practically grew up tripping over ceremonial rugs and silver trays," he said with mock sorrow. "But this year is different. Everyone feels… sharper. Like they're waiting for something to crack."
His eyes flicked around the room, his smile dimming slightly.
"Do you think something will?" Acacia asked quietly, before she could second-guess the question.
Argan looked at her again. This time, the amusement in his expression softened into something more contemplative.
"Yes," he said. "But I'm not sure whether it will be the empire or the people holding it up."
His answer lingered between them longer than it should have.
He said after a moment, stepping back. "But I hope this won't be our only conversation tonight."
Before she could respond, he offered another small bow, this time with a glint of mischief in his eye, and disappeared into the crowd, his emerald cloak catching the light like a second glance.
Acacia stared after him, pulse steady but mind not.
She didn't realize she was still watching until Dominic murmured, "He's little annoying."
As Argan's figure vanished into the shifting crowd, Acacia's gaze lingered for only a moment longer before she turned back to her brothers. The warm flicker he left behind still hummed faintly in her chest, though she didn't show it.
Astor leaned in, whispering just low enough for only them to hear. "He talks like he's in a play, doesn't he? All that charm and glimmer. Makes me nervous."
"He makes everyone nervous," Dominic muttered, arms folded over his chest. "That smile's rehearsed. I've seen it used on three different people in the span of five minutes."
Acacia let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. "Maybe it's just how he talks."
"Or how he distracts," Dominic said flatly. "The Seymour heir grew up in rooms full of councilmen, deals, and secrets. Every word he says is measured, even the warm ones."
"And the red eyes?" Astor asked, casting a glance back in the direction Argan had gone. "Not many have that. Creepy, if you ask me."
"They're rare," Acacia said, her voice quieter now. "But… not unsettling."
Dominic raised a brow at her.
She replied, keeping her tone steady. "They're like fire under glass."
For a few moments, the three of them stood silently, shoulder to shoulder, watching the rest of the court swirl around them, voices rising, laughter weaving through titles and tension. Somewhere beyond, the nobility continued to dance its intricate, invisible steps.