Later that day, the clear sky had faded into dull gray, and the chill in the air carried the scent of pine and faint smoke from the manor's chimneys. Acacia stood in the courtyard beneath the leafless ash tree, its twisted branches stretching up like dark veins against the clouds.
She watched as Astor and Dominic trained in the distance, one focused, one reckless, as usual.
Dominic moved with clean, practiced precision, his blade carving lines through the air like poetry, steady, sharp, economical. Astor, on the other hand, lunged forward with boundless energy, swinging wide and bold. His coat flared behind him like a cape, and more than once, he nearly slipped on the stone tiles from sheer enthusiasm.
"They're going to fall on top of each other," Acacia murmured to herself, amused.
"Astor!" Dominic barked, stepping aside as his brother overreached again. "You'll impale yourself before you impale anyone else."
Astor grinned, unbothered. "Maybe that's part of the charm. Surprise tactics."
Acacia chuckled and pulled her cloak tighter, her breath misting in the air. The courtyard felt alive, despite the cold, despite the bare trees. Something about watching the brothers move like clockwork, quarrel like children, and laugh like it didn't matter if snow fell or war loomed, settled warmth inside her.
A pair of maids stepped out into the court yard "Dinner will be served shortly, my lords and lady," one called with a small curtsy. "The table is nearly set."
Dominic gave a nod of acknowledgment. Astor raised a mock salute.
The brothers sheathed their blades, the clink of metal soft against the quiet courtyard.
Astor rolled his shoulders back, still catching his breath. "Let's head in before mother asks the maids to drag us by the ears."
Dominic straightened his collar, his breath misting in the fading light. "If you keep charging like that tomorrow, mother might ask the maids and guards to drag you to a healer instead."
Astor shot him a sideways glance. "It worked, didn't it?"
"It nearly worked your ankle out of its socket," Dominic muttered, though a smirk played on his lips.
Acacia fell into step beside them, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots mixing with the hush of evening. The walk toward the manor was lined with dormant rose bushes, now bare of color, save for the occasional stubborn bud clinging to a frost-kissed stem.
Dominic slowed his pace so she wouldn't trail behind. "You always stand like that when you watch us train?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're memorizing everything," he said, tilting his head.
Acacia smiled faintly. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'll challenge you both one day."
Astor raised a brow. "We'll be gentle. Probably."
She rolled her eyes as they reached the stone steps of the manor. Lanterns had been lit along the walls, warmth spilled through the entryway doors as one of the maids pushed them open, bowing slightly.
"Welcome back, my lords. My lady," she said. "The fire's been lit in the dining hall, and supper will be served shortly."
Astor let out a contented sigh. "Now that's a welcome I can get used to."
The grand dining hall was aglow with golden candlelight, casting soft shadows on the long mahogany table lined with fine porcelain and silver. A crackling fire blazed at the hearth, its heat a welcome contrast to the chill outside.
Duke Nathaniel Ashcroft sat at the head of the table, regal in posture but with a softness in his eyes as he watched his children enter. Lady Mirena sat beside him, her usual grace touched with a quiet anticipation.
The meal was nothing short of a winter feast, roasted duck with glazed apples, creamy root vegetable stew, warm cranberry tarts and spiced mulled wine. Bowls of honeyed chestnuts and fresh bread filled the spaces between.
As they ate and exchanged light conversation, it was Lady Mirena who finally set her goblet down and cleared her throat gently.
"Tomorrow," she said, her eyes twinkling as they met Acacia's, "we'll be heading into town for the Winter Market. It's tradition, every year, the Five Houses send a small retinue to show presence and support the craftsmen."
"We'll be needing proper attire and buy more clothes for Acacia," the Duke said with a nod. "The Winter Market begins tomorrow, it's colder near the northern square."
"Finally," Astor muttered. "Maybe this time I'll get gloves that match."
Dominic chuckled. "You mean gloves you won't lose in the first hour?"
Lady Mirena laughed softly. "Everyone, be ready by midmorning. The roads will be crowded and I'd prefer we're back before sunset."
Acacia glanced around the table, heart warming at the laughter and teasing, the hum of family not bound by blood alone. She felt the faintest pull in her chest, of belonging.
As the plates were cleared and candles burned lower, the conversation turned softer, weather, schedules, idle curiosities. Acacia sat back in her chair, the lingering flavors of roasted chestnut and honeyed squash still on her tongue. She didn't speak much, but she didn't need to. For once, she wasn't a guest or a stranger. She simply was and that was enough.
That night, Acacia dreamt of sun-dappled meadows.
She was running, barefoot through a field that stretched endlessly, golden light pouring through clouds like blessings from the sky. Her laughter rang out, clear and unburdened, as though it belonged to someone untouched by sorrow.
A breeze danced through her hair. Flowers bloomed with each step she took, bluebells, wild roses, and petals she couldn't name but somehow loved. In the distance, a tree stood wide and welcoming, its trunk carved with initials she couldn't read but felt were hers.
She wasn't alone.
Someone ran beside her, just out of sight. She couldn't see his face, only the edge of his smile, the warmth of his hand brushing hers as if they'd always known each other. He called out something, her name? No, a different name. One that stirred a strange comfort in her chest.
She didn't want to wake up. Not yet.
They reached the tree, breathless and glowing, and when he turned toward her, the sunlight behind him made his features blur, but his presence felt achingly familiar. Like the memory of a song.
He touched her cheek gently, reverently and said, "I found you."
She woke with sunlight brushing her cheek, warm and golden, so unlike the cold stone of her room. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes blinking against the morning light, chasing remnants of the dream that clung to her mind like dew.
The meadow was gone. The laughter faded. But the feeling remained.
That sense of being loved. Found. Whole.
A tree. A large one, its bark etched with markings she couldn't decipher but could still feel under her fingertips. She pressed a hand to her chest as if the memory were carved there too.
There had been someone. A voice. A hand nearly touching hers.
She couldn't remember the name.
But as she sat there, quiet and alone in the waking world, a smile ghosted her lips.
"I found you."
She didn't know who had said it, or why it made her feel like crying.
But it made her feel… real.
Alive.
Like something, or someone, was waiting.