As the laughter settled into smiles and sips of lukewarm tea, Lyra leaned forward, her eyes glinting with a spark of mischief.
"You know what we haven't done in a while?" she asked, twirling the silver spoon between her fingers.
"Troublemaking?" Irene offered, raising a brow.
"An actual night off," Lyra declared. "With good food, a warm fire, and absolutely no politics."
"Ooh, I like the sound of that," Sienna chimed in, clapping her hands. "Don't tell me you're planning something?"
"A little gathering," Lyra said, her smile widening. "At our estate. Five days from now. Just us, the usual crowd, bonfire, some barbeque, drinks, maybe music. The garden's already blooming. It'll be perfect."
The others perked up immediately, the air humming with a quiet spark of anticipation.
"You're inviting everyone?" Acacia asked, surprised.
"Yes," Lyra confirmed, casting her a warm look. "Seren, Myron, Dominic… even Astor and Argan as of course will be there"
The suggestion stirred a thrill in the room, laughter softening into exchanged glances and cheeks faintly tinged pink.
"Fire and food under the stars," Sienna mused. "What could possibly go wrong?"
"Everything," Begonia said dryly, though the corner of her mouth curved in amusement.
"Exactly," Lyra grinned. "Which is why it'll be perfect."
As the plans began to take shape between airy laughter and playful jabs, the light in the room turned golden with the kind of ease that only came with long friendship or the quiet, blooming promise of it.
Irene refilled her cup with practiced grace. "We'll need to send formal invitations. I don't trust the boys to remember a date unless it's carved into their swords."
Begonia hummed. "I'll handle it. But if Astor's coming, I'm setting a curfew, last time he had everyone lying in the grass debating the philosophy of stars until sunrise."
"Only because you kept answering back," Sienna teased, sipping with a smirk. "Face it, you two turn any stargazing into a duel of metaphors."
"Someone has to keep him in check," Begonia replied smoothly, though the flicker of a smile betrayed her amusement.
The laughter that followed rose like a breeze through budding branches, bright and easy.
Acacia watched them, fingers curled loosely around her teacup, a soft smile playing at her lips. She could already imagine the firelight dancing on their faces, the scent of grilled food lingering in the air, music trailing through the gardens like a secret.
And yet, somewhere between the talk of stars and spring nights, her mind wandered, to Seren, whose eyes held quiet storms he never spoke of… and to Argan, whose gaze always lingered a moment too long when he thought no one noticed.
She didn't yet know what either meant, or why her thoughts always seemed to drift to them when the world was at its calmest.
But as the others laughed and planned, she just listened, letting it all wash over her like sunlight through new leaves.
The Letters Arrive
The sun stretched long over the estate walls, painting everything in that soft, golden hue that only spring could offer. A light breeze carried with it the scent of fresh grass and newly bloomed lilacs as the letters, sealed with Woods wax, began to make their rounds.
To the Intended Receiver of Laughter, Smoke, and Stargazing,
As winter finally retreats and spring dares to stretch her limbs, we've decided it's time for a pause, from duties, from formalities, from everything that insists on keeping our shoulders stiff and smiles polite.
Lyra Seymour, in her infinite wisdom (and insistence), has orchestrated a plan, a simple night off. We're calling it a gathering of warmth, to be held five days from now at the Seymour Estate.
There will be a bonfire, barbeque, stargazing, and plenty of relaxation. Nothing fancy. Just a warm night with people who don't need a reason to laugh.
The girls, Acacia, Irene, Sienna and I, will be arriving before afternoon, and we expect you to join us at the same time, preferably with your usual chaos and charm.
We'll begin with lunch, followed by whatever delightful nonsense the day allows.
Pack whatever you need to survive a night of unfiltered conversation and slightly burnt marshmallows. I'd say we'll be gentle, but we both know better.
With fond exasperation,
Begonia Woods
Dominic was the first to receive his. The duke's study was quiet when a footman brought it in. He turned it over in his hand, the seal unbroken, before carefully cracking it open.
His brows lifted slightly at the words inside.
"A bonfire," he murmured, amused. "Barbeque. Stargazing." A pause.
Then, almost fondly: "Lyra's losing subtlety by the year."
Still, he didn't toss it aside. He folded it again and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat, a small smile ghosting his lips as he returned to his maps, though his focus had decidedly wandered.
Astor was lounging upside down on a velvet sofa, one leg thrown over the backrest, eyes closed, when a servant tossed the letter onto his stomach.
He cracked one eye open, squinted at the seal, then tore it open with dramatic flair.
"Ah, an invitation to chaos," he declared to the empty room, sitting up with a flourish. "The stars shall suffer my presence again!"
He swung his legs off the sofa and stood, already halfway to his wardrobe. "I shall pack extra poetry."
Elsewhere, in the quiet study of House Walter, Myron received his letter in a more subdued manner. A servant handed it to him without comment, and he opened it with a clean, practiced motion.
His eyes skimmed the page, until they landed on the name Begonia in the signature. That made him pause.
He read the invitation again, slower this time, thumb brushing faintly over the inked letters as if they held more than simple intent.
"Relaxation and fire in the same sentence… sounds dangerous."
Still, he tucked it carefully inside his journal, where notes and half-finished thoughts quietly waited. A subtle decision, no more than a flicker. But it stayed.
Seren stood beneath a wisteria tree in the courtyard, practicing sword forms in silence when the letter was handed to him. His fingers, calloused and steady, broke the seal as he scanned the parchment.
He paused only once, eyes catching on her name among the list. Acacia.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his expression. Then, folding the paper neatly, he resumed his movements, but his strikes had lost their rhythm, ever so slightly.
Argan was in the stables, brushing down his horse when Begonia's letter reached him. The mare nuzzled his shoulder as he read.
A small breath of laughter escaped him. He folded the note carefully, slipping it into his satchel. But he lingered there longer than necessary, one hand resting idly against the horse's neck, his gaze distant.
He didn't say her name aloud. But he thought it.
Acacia.
That evening, as the sun dipped low and the first stars blinked into view, the replies began to travel back, sealed with varied crests, some with flourishes, some plain, some perhaps folded more than once, as if they'd been read again and again before being sent.
Back at the Seymour estate, Argan passed Lyra in the hallway, his brows slightly raised.
"Bonfire and stargazing?" he asked, voice casual.
Lyra only smirked. "Don't act surprised. You need the fresh air more than anyone."
Argan didn't argue. But as he continued down the corridor, his fingers brushed briefly against the inside of his satchel, where the invitation still rested, out of habit more than need.
And across the estates, one shared anticipation began to build, quiet, unspoken, but present.
Spring was blooming. And with it, something else, too.