The corridor outside the study was quiet, the footsteps of passing maids distant, muffled. Acacia walked slowly, the hush around her thick as snow. Her hand unconsciously touched the pendant at her collar again. It felt heavier now, but not in a burdensome way. More like an anchor.
She didn't return to her room. Not yet.
Instead, her steps led her to the east balcony, the one that overlooked the forest's edge and the old stone path where the first Ashcrofts had once arrived from the North. The wind was gentler than usual, brushing against her cheeks, carrying the scent of pine and frost.
She leaned against the balustrade, eyes closed.
He said, You are not less for it.
The words circled her thoughts, quietly insistent. A part of her wanted to believe it. Another part was still wrapped in shadows, of faces she couldn't place, dreams that crumbled when she reached for them.
But for the first time… she didn't feel like she was standing alone inside herself.
And as if summoned by that thought, a small, almost-forgotten smile curled at her lips. A real one. Not for show. Not out of politeness. But soft and uncertain and hers.
In the courtyard below, the staff prepared the garden for the early blooms. Somewhere inside the manor, Dominic and Astor's voices echoed faintly in disagreement over something trivial. The household was alive. And so was she.
Acacia tilted her head back, letting the sunlight spill over her face, and for a single, fleeting moment...
She allowed herself to feel wanted.
Later, she found them in the training courtyard just as the afternoon sun pierced through the grey clouds above. Dominic stood steady, arms folded, while Astor leaned lazily against a wooden post, tossing a pebble in the air with idle precision.
As soon as they spotted her, Astor waved. "There she is, the elusive lady of the hour!"
Dominic turned, eyes narrowing slightly, not in suspicion, but in the quiet way he always observed. "What did the Duke speak to you about?"
Acacia hesitated, then walked closer, her boots crunching over the thin layer of frost clinging to the stone.
"He asked me…" She drew in a breath. "If I would accept the name. If I'd choose to become Acacia Ashcroft in name, not just in circumstance."
Astor blinked, lowering the pebble mid-toss. "That's, pretty big."
Dominic didn't look surprised. "And… what did you say?"
"I didn't give an answer," she said quietly. "Not yet."
Astor stepped forward, eyes soft now. "Do you want to?"
Acacia looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I… care for all of you. More than I know how to explain. But part of me still feels like I'm living someone else's life. I'm afraid. That if I say yes… it'll mean letting go of whoever I was before."
Dominic's voice was calm, steady. "Becoming an Ashcroft doesn't mean erasing who you were. It means choosing who you want to be now."
"You've already been Acacia to us," Astor added. "Since the day we found you. The name was never the important part. You were you. And we… kind of like that person."
She looked up at them slowly, eyes searching.
"You really mean that?"
Dominic met her gaze. "You're our sister. Whether or not there's ink on paper."
Astor gave a crooked grin. "And if you need official brotherly approval, I can forge a stamp with a flying goat on it. Very serious and binding."
A laugh broke through her lips before she could stop it.
Something in her chest eased, just a little more.
Maybe… she didn't have to be afraid of choosing a name if the people around her had already chosen her.
That evening, the manor had quieted. The halls whispered with the scent of burning cedar and snow-dampened stone. Acacia stood outside the Duke's study, her hands folded together, the memory of Dominic and Astor's words still lingering in her chest like warmth caught beneath frost.
She knocked gently.
"Enter," came the Duke's voice, calm, steady, as always.
The room was bathed in firelight, casting golden hues on the papers spread across his desk. He looked up, meeting her gaze with his usual unreadable stillness. But she had come to understand him enough to know when he was waiting, not just with patience, but with hope.
"I wanted to give you my answer," she said softly, stepping in.
Nathaniel set his pen down. "Go on."
"I would like to take the name," she said, her voice wavering only slightly. "I want to be… Acacia Ashcroft."
Silence settled for a moment. Not heavy, but reverent.
"Are you certain?" he asked, not doubting, but honoring the weight of her choice.
She nodded once. "I don't know who I was before. And maybe I never will. But I know who I've become here. And I want to keep becoming that person. With you. With this family."
A breath left him, quiet but deep. Then he stood, walked to her, and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Then from this day forward," he said, his voice low and solemn, "you are, in name and heart, Acacia Ashcroft. Daughter of this House. Not because we gave you a name… but because you gave us something to hold onto."
She blinked fast, but the tears came anyway, soft and warm.
He didn't embrace her, not fully. But his hand lingered on her shoulder with the firm gravity of someone who meant every word.
For the first time, the name didn't feel strange.
It felt like something she had grown into, like a tree that had quietly taken root.
The next morning, sunlight streamed in through the tall glass windows, scattering patterns across the long oak table set at the heart of the northern wing. For once, the room wasn't set for a diplomatic meeting or military briefing. Today, it bore the quiet warmth of something far more personal.
The entire Ashcroft family was present.
The Duke, tall and composed in his formal military cloak, stood beside the Duchess, her elegant frame poised but softer than usual. At their side were the brothers: Dominic, his posture rigid yet eyes warm; Astor, slightly less fidgety than usual but still bouncing on the balls of his heels.
And in the center of it all, Acacia.
She wore a simple but graceful dress in Ashcroft purple, her hair loosely tied back, a rare softness in her expression as she looked at each of them.
The Duke's voice broke the silence.
"Acacia," he said, "You are no longer a guest of House Ashcroft. You are one of us. In name, by choice, not just circumstance."
The Duchess stepped forward, holding out a small wooden box. Inside, nestled in red velvet, was the Ashcroft family crest- The stag, "This belongs to our family," the Duchess said, her voice gentler than Acacia had ever heard it. "And so now, it belongs to you as well."
Acacia didn't trust her voice to speak, so she bowed her head instead. Her fingers trembled slightly as they grazed the crest, real, tangible, hers.
Astor leaned in with a boyish grin. "This means you're officially our sister now."
Dominic added with a grin, "You're stuck with us. Forever."
The Duke stepped closer and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"You've earned this, not because we pitied you… you're family, Acacia. Truly."
A pause. Then the Duchess said, simply "Welcome home."
Acacia looked up at them, the name she never imagined would feel so right.
And at that moment, she smiled. Softly. Fully. For the first time in weeks.
Acacia Ashcroft.
She didn't know who she had been before the forest. But in this moment, she knew who she was now. And maybe, that was enough for now.