In the morning, the Ashcroft estate stirred earlier than usual. Maids bustled through the halls, their footsteps light but quick, carrying cloaks, scarves, and fur-lined gloves in armfuls. Outside, a pale sun filtered through the clouds, casting a soft golden sheen over the snow-covered grounds.
Acacia stood near the window in her room, watching a pair of stablehands ready the carriages. Frost had curled like lace across the glass, and the distant woods beyond shimmered in icy stillness. A knock on her door pulled her from the quiet scene.
"Lady Acacia," a maid said with a polite curtsy, "your riding cloak and boots have been prepared. Lady Mirena requests everyone meet in the front hall in 15 minutes."
Acacia nodded, fingers brushing over the edge of the cloak laid out for her. It was new, deep blue wool with silver embroidery near the hem, like stitched frost. It felt warmer than anything she'd owned before.
Downstairs, the family was slowly gathering. The Duke stood near the hearth, fastening his gloves. Lady Mirena examined a list, murmuring to one of the footmen. Astor, already in his coat, fidgeted with his scarf while Dominic looked on, exasperated.
"You don't need to double-knot it like you're off to war," Dominic muttered.
"It's cold. And this one smells like cedar," Astor replied cheerfully, pulling the knot tighter.
When Acacia descended the stairs, Astor grinned. "Look at you, like a snowdrop in bloom."
Dominic gave her a nod of approval. "That cloak suits you."
Acacia smiled faintly, cheeks warming despite the cold air sneaking in from the doors. "Thank you. I'm excited to visit the market "
"You'll like it," Lady Mirena said, approaching with a final glance over the list. "The Winter Market only comes through Solerith once a year. And in the north, it's a festival in itself."
"Traders from every province," the Duke added. "Spices from the eastern shores, handmade toys, music, fire dancers…"
"And food," Astor cut in. "Don't forget the food. Roasted almonds, sugared pears, meat pies that could put you in a coma."
Dominic rolled his eyes. "You mean the time you ate five pies and nearly passed out?"
"That was a tactical miscalculation," Astor muttered. "I regret nothing."
The family's laughter drifted warmly through the stone halls as they stepped outside into the winter light, the clatter of horses and carriages echoing across the frost-covered courtyard. As Acacia climbed into the carriage between the brothers, the scent of pine and promise hung in the air.
The air was crisp and laced with frost, breath visible in small clouds as the Ashcroft carriage rattled down the cobbled roads. Townsfolk bustled about in thick cloaks and woolen scarves, and from a distance, the Winter Market looked like a patchwork quilt, canopies of deep red, evergreen, and snow-white lined the square, each one brimming with color and life.
As the Ashcrofts stepped out, a wave of warmth and sound washed over them, children laughing, a bard strumming a lute by the fountain, the scent of cinnamon bread and roasted chestnuts rising with the steam.
Lady Mirena led the way, cloak elegantly draped, followed by the Duke and his sons. Acacia stayed between them, wide-eyed, there was something almost magical about this one. Lanterns floated mid-air, softly glowing. A snow globe stall shimmered with tiny enchanted scenes inside, castles glowing, trees blooming and withering in a blink.
"Stay close," Dominic said with a half-smile. "Astor has a habit of wandering into trouble."
"I heard that," Astor grinned, already eyeing a stall with jewel-handled daggers.
They passed a book stall, aged tomes and new prints alike, some humming faintly. Acacia's fingers brushed a blue-bound one that vibrated gently under her touch. "Those are from the Woods archive reprints," the seller noted. "Only whisper their titles aloud."
A candy maker handed Acacia a twist of honeyed snowdrops. "First snow treat, miss?" She nodded, taking a cautious bite. It melted like winter sun on her tongue.
Then came the clothing stalls. Lady Mirena handed Acacia pairs of gloves, scarves, cloaks, checking sizes, colors, textures.
"Green," Astor groaned, holding up a cloak. "Dominic, I dare you."
"Hard pass," Dominic smirked. "That would make you look responsible."
Laughter. Light. A rare, unforced joy.
Just as Acacia reached for a silver clasped cloak, a strange sound echoed, a soft chime, like wind passing through glass. She turned.
At the very edge of the market, past the last visible stall, stood a small tent no one else seemed to notice. Its fabric shimmered between white and gold, like it couldn't settle on a single shade. No sign. No line.
"…Do you see that?" she asked quietly.
Only Astor turned. "What?"
"That tent." She blinked.
It was gone.
A breeze stirred her hair, and the scent of pine and smoke returned.
Later, as the family drifted through the market, Mirena bartering for rare fabric, Astor deep in conversation with a weaponsmith, and Dominic examining maps, Acacia wandered a few paces away, her attention caught once more.
There it was again.
The tent.
Half-shadowed behind a row of spice barrels and wool traders, as if it had simply grown out of the snow. The fabric shimmered subtly, gold one moment, bone-pale the next. No footprints led to it. No one else seemed to look in its direction.
Acacia stepped toward it before she fully realized what she was doing.
A few steps.
Then a few more.
The bustle of the Winter Market faded behind her, replaced by an odd stillness, as if time had slowed the moment she crossed the invisible threshold.
She reached out to touch the fabric of the tent.
"Don't pull too hard," came a voice, dry, papery, yet oddly melodic.
Acacia froze.
The flap of the tent had already drawn back, revealing a small interior filled with wind-chimes made from bone, feathers, and slivers of moonstone. Candles floated midair, their flames flickering a pale green. And in the center, perched on a stool that looked older than the hills, sat a woman swathed in layers of tattered velvet and shawls.
Her eyes were pale, nearly colorless. Like a sky stretched too thin.
"Most walk past without ever seeing it," the woman said, not unkindly. "But you… you see through the seams."
Acacia's mouth parted slightly. "What is this place?"
"A crack," the woman whispered. "Between what is seen and what is sensed."
She gestured to a shallow brass bowl beside her, filled with water that shimmered like starlight. "You've lost your name once, haven't you?"
Acacia blinked. Her heart gave a hard thud.
The woman smiled, slow and knowing. "You remember in dreams. But the waking world keeps you quiet."
"I…" Acacia swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."
"You do." The woman leaned forward. "Not in words. Not yet. But your heart aches where memory once bloomed. You dream of meadows and voices. Of trees that speak."
Acacia's breath caught.
"Would you like to see?" the woman asked softly, gesturing to the bowl.
Before Acacia could answer, the tent flap rustled behind her, and the woman sat back, as if the moment had passed.
"When the stars are quiet," she said instead, "listen. The name you've forgotten is still waiting."
And just like that, Acacia turned, and the tent was gone.
She stood at the edge of the market again, the sound of music and laughter washing over her as if nothing had happened.
Only the faint smell of lavender and ash lingered on her cloak.
And the strange chill that danced up her spine.
She stood still for a long moment, blinking at the space where the tent had been.
Gone.
As if it had never existed.
"Did you lose something, Lady?" came a voice, smooth, refined, and just sharp enough to draw the air taut around her.
Acacia turned.
A tall man stood just a few paces away, dressed in dark velvet lined with frost-colored embroidery. A House Veltorin crest, subtle, silver, stitched on his collar, gleamed under the pale sunlight. His gloves were still on, though he bowed with a grace that suggested nobility ran as much in his bones as it did in his name.
"Lord Seren," she greeted, instinct steadying her voice. "I didn't expect to see you at the market."
"I could say the same," he replied, studying her with a gaze too observant to be casual. "Ashcrofts aren't often drawn to tents that vanish."
Her eyes flickered.
So he had seen.
"Curious minds tend to wander," she said lightly, though she stood straighter.
His mouth lifted just slightly, not quite a smile, not quite mockery. "And I've always found it… magnetic, watching where yours wanders."
Her breath stilled, but she said nothing.
"And what did your curiosity find?" he asked, his voice pitched lower, silk laced with iron.
"Nothing," she replied. "Or everything. I'm still deciding."
A pause.
Seren said, tone shifting just slightly. "My sister, Irene was quite fond of you during the Winter Court."
Acacia nodded. "I remember her warmth."
Seren's gaze lingered a moment more, his eyes darker now. "She said you reminded her of a hearth, quiet, but capable of burning through stone if left untended. I've wondered ever since… what it would take to feel that fire up close."
She held his gaze, the silence between them a thread stretched thin.
"Well," he said, voice returning to its earlier cadence, "may it be a quiet winter for you this year, Lady."
"And for you, Lord"
He dipped his head, then disappeared into the crowd, leaving only the faint scent of cedar and old ink in his wake.
Acacia exhaled softly.
The tent was gone. But something else had arrived in its place...
A quiet sense that the threads around her life were starting to pull.
And not all of them led to safety.
She remained still for a heartbeat longer, the sound of the market slowly bleeding back into her ears. Children laughing near a sweetbread stall. The sharp crack of boots on frost. The rattle of a cart turning a corner.
"Where did you go?"
The question came before the footsteps. Dominic's voice, low, clipped, and unmistakably displeased, cut through the noise.
She turned as both Ashcroft brothers appeared, weaving through the crowd toward her. Astor was a step ahead, scanning the area as if expecting to find her mid-duel or in the arms of some troublemaker.
"We've been looking everywhere," Astor said, half breathless, half exasperated. "One moment you were beside us, and the next, vanished! You didn't even leave footprints."
"Are you hurt?" Dominic added, eyes scanning her quickly. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," Acacia replied, managing a small smile. "Just… wandered a little too far. Got curious."
Dominic's gaze lingered on her a moment longer, quiet and unreadable, before he gave a faint sigh. "We're heading back soon. Father doesn't like delays."
Astor nodded, though he nudged her elbow with an easy, familiar touch. "Next time you wander off atleast leave a trail of breadcrumbs, Well, at least you're not frozen stiff". Then, with a crooked grin, "come on, Acacia. There's a gingerbread hawker who owes me a smile."
She rolled her eyes and followed, the noise of the market enveloping them once more. But even as they walked, her eyes flickered back to where Seren had stood, and where the strange tent had once shimmered like a dream.
Something inside her had shifted. She didn't know what it was yet.