The northern winds had lightened, no longer sharp with frost but carrying the sweet promise of blooming days. Spring had arrived in the Solerith Empire like a long-awaited friend, bright, blossoming and full of laughter.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows of the Ashcroft manor, dancing across the marble floors in golden ribbons. Acacia sat curled in the reading nook, a book resting on her lap, her thoughts drifting somewhere between the pages and the warm hum of the morning.
A soft knock at the door pulled her attention. The butler stepped in, composed as always, holding a sealed envelope on a silver tray.
"A letter for you, Lady Acacia," he said, bowing slightly.
She blinked, setting her book aside. "For me?"
"Yes, my lady. Delivered from House Woods."
She took the envelope, her name written in delicate, looping script. She ran her fingers along the design pressed into the wax, a blooming camellia wrapped in vines.
Carefully, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
Dearest Lady Acacia,
You are cordially invited to a Spring Gathering at the Woods Estate, a celebration of the season's first blossoms and the quiet renewal they bring. I would be delighted to host you for a gentle evening of tea and conversation, tomorrow, just us girls.
With warmth,
Begonia Woods
Acacia read the invitation again, surprise softening into quiet excitement. An invitation from Begonia Woods felt more than courtesy.
It meant she was seen and accepted.
A flutter of nerves rose as she stood, smoothing her skirts. She had grown used to the Ashcroft estate, but stepping into the social circles of other noble daughters was different.
Still, she drew a breath. I'm Acacia Ashcroft now, she reminded herself.
The next day, her room filled with soft sunlight and the rustle of fabric.
A maid helped lay out dresses, each one elegant but understated, most in soft pastels.
"This one, I think," Acacia murmured, her fingers grazing a blue gown with bell sleeves and delicate embroidery along the bodice, something graceful but not attention-seeking.
Her hair was gathered loosely, pinned with small pearl accents. There was no heavy display of status, just a quiet, blooming presence.
The garden of House Woods was awash in color. Delicate ribbons fluttered from trellises, and soft petals rained down from blooming trees as if the season itself had been invited. Laughter danced in the air, light and effortless, accompanied by the clink of porcelain teacups and the rustle of fine silk.
Acacia stepped carefully across the trimmed path, her blue gown catching the sunlight, and though her fingers were curled around her gloves a little too tightly, her chin was held high.
"Lady Acacia," a familiar voice called. Begonia Woods approached with a smile, vibrant in a lavender dress that matched the lilacs blooming behind her. "You came. I'm glad."
"I, Thank you for inviting me," Acacia replied with a small smile, her nerves soothed by the warmth in Begonia's tone.
Begonia, looped her arm through Acacia's. "Come, the others have already arrived. Also there are many scrumptious delicacies you must try."
Acacia allowed herself to be led, the early tension melting beneath the sun and Begonia's casual ease.
The round table beneath the cherry trees was already half-filled when Acacia arrived. Porcelain teacups rested beside floral napkins, and the plates shimmered with pastel-colored sweets, candied violets, lemon tarts, rose cake and frosted tea cakes. The air smelled of honey and citrus.
Lyra Seymour looked up first. With her soft hair and a sun-kissed face, she gave Acacia a grin. "So the frostflower blooms in spring too."
Acacia blinked, unsure if it was mockery or poetry.
"She means it fondly," said Sienna woods, perched gracefully with a book resting closed on her lap. "Lyra collects metaphors the way some collect fans. Take it as a compliment."
Lyra laughed. "I do mean it fondly."
Acacia smiled as a response.
Irene looked up from her teacup, her expression was calm, not cold. A quiet grace framed her words.
"It's nice to see you again, Lady Acacia," she said gently. "You seem more at ease than the last time we met. Spring suits you."
Before Acacia could respond, Sienna leaned in with a playful grin. "Saints above, Irene, if you get any warmer, the flowers might start blooming out of season."
The table erupted in soft laughter, even drawing a faint smile from Irene herself.
"I'm honoured, then," Acacia replied, cheeks touched with color.
For a moment, Acacia simply listened to the flow of voices, the way their tones shifted from teasing to thoughtful. These girls weren't cold or sharp-edged like she feared. They were observant, clever, each with their own way of wielding presence, not unlike soldiers on a different battlefield.
"So, Acacia," Sienna asked gently, resting her chin on her hand, "how does it feel now? Being officially an Ashcroft?"
All eyes turned to her.
Acacia's fingers brushed the rim of her teacup. "Still… a little new," she admitted. "But good. Like stepping into a place that was waiting quietly for you."
There was a beat of silence. Then Lyra smiled and raised her cup. "To spring beginnings and houses that choose right."
The others followed suit. Acacia raised hers too, the warmth in her chest steady now.
She wasn't just accepted. She was being welcomed.
As another round of tea was poured and the pastries dwindled, the conversation took a playful turn.
"I heard Lord Walter rode all the way through the snowstorm just to return a single glove," Lyra said, voice laced with teasing as she reached for a strawberry tart.
Irene raised a brow. "Oh, I thought it was a lost earring this time."
"No," Sienna chimed in with mock seriousness. "It was her scarf. Silk. Embroidered. Precious enough to brave frostbite over."
All heads turned to Begonia, who sat perfectly poised with her tea, save for the faintest flush creeping up her neck.
"He was simply being considerate," she said primly, though her fingers tapped the rim of her cup. "As any friend would."
"Ah," Lyra mused, drawing out the word like a melody. "A friend who stares at no one else quite as long, and always seems to find his seat next to you."
Acacia watched Begonia try to suppress a smile, and felt her own lips curve in response. She hadn't known the girl long, but even in brief exchanges at the Winter Court, it was easy to see how Myron Walter's gaze softened when it found her. And how Begonia's composure slipped, ever so slightly, only around him.
"You know," Acacia offered gently, "in the stories, spring is when secrets bloom."
That earned her a mock glare from Begonia, though it was all in good humor.
"If you all insist on turning this into some sort of garden gossip column," Begonia said, setting her cup down with exaggerated grace, "I shall start telling tales about each of you. And I remember everything."
The girls burst into laughter, the sound rising into the blue sky, bright, affectionate, full of shared youth and soft beginnings.