The Seymour estate came into view just as the sun began its slow rise to its noonday throne. Situated beside a glimmering lake and ringed with soft spring-green hills, the estate wasn't grand in the traditional sense, it didn't tower or glisten. It invited.
Vines curled along pale sandstone walls. Early blossoms opened toward the sky. The breeze carried laughter even before anyone stepped through the gates.
Servants lined the stone path, not stiff in posture but smiling, clearly instructed to match the day's mood. The estate had been prepared not for show, but for ease: rugs laid across the grass for lounging, low tables already set outside in the sun-dappled garden, cushions scattered across benches. In the center, an open terrace waited, meant for the fire later that night.
Standing at the wide archway that led to the main house, Lyra Seymour, dressed in soft lavender silk, tapped her fan against her palm, eyes flicking toward the winding path. Beside her, Argan Seymour adjusted the cuffs of his jacket with a distracted air that didn't quite hide the grin tugging at his lips.
"They're late," Lyra remarked, narrowing her eyes in mock annoyance. "Which means they'll arrive in clusters and ruin the order I planned."
Argan arched a brow. "You planned order for this group?"
"Let me pretend."
The first carriage to arrive was unmistakably from House Woods. Sienna Woods stepped out with a slight bounce in her step, her travel cloak fluttering behind her like it had someplace to be. She looked around with a conspiratorial grin, the kind that promised trouble. Behind her, her older sister, Begonia Woods, emerged with a calm, composed air… until she spotted the rows of flowerbeds and muttered, "We're not digging anything up today, are we?"
"Only trouble," Sienna replied, tugging her sister forward.
Argan met them halfway, hands in his pockets. "You're early. Are we supposed to be nervous?"
Sienna beamed. "Terrified, ideally."
Not long after, the Veltorin crest gleamed as another carriage pulled through the gates. Irene Veltorin stepped down first, her expression unreadable, chin tilted slightly as she took in the view of the estate. She walked with grace, but her boots hinted at a readiness to flee at any moment if things got too emotional. Trailing her was Seren Veltorin, arms crossed and eyes sharp, scanning the estate grounds as if already calculating every possible escape route or weak point.
"They really did plan this like an ambush," Seren muttered.
Irene huffed. "It's a gathering. With fire. And chaos. Of course Lyra planned it."
Argan gave a dry laugh as he welcomed them both with an exaggerated bow. "Your trust wounds me."
"We don't trust you," Seren deadpanned. "That's why we're here."
"Perfect," Lyra grinned, stepping forward. "Now come inside before Sienna starts dragging cushions onto the roof again."
Before she could finish, the next carriage rolled in sleek, dark, and unmistakably Walter in design. Myron Walter stepped out alone, carrying a single leather bag slung across his shoulder. He adjusted his collar with practiced ease and surveyed the scene with a crooked smile.
"Ah. I see the chaos has already begun."
"You're late," Begonia called, arms folded. "Again."
"I wanted to give everyone else a head start at embarrassing themselves before I arrived."
"Charming," muttered Irene, brushing past him.
Lyra chuckled. "Welcome, Myron. Come in before the Ashcrofts arrive and declare it a diplomatic mission."
Not long after, the sound of hooves on gravel broke through the chatter and laughter.
The soft rumble of wheels over gravel turned every head.
From the bend in the drive, a single, grand carriage rolled into view, larger than most, its brown frame catching the gentle spring sunlight. The Ashcroft crest shimmered on its side.
"They're here," Lyra murmured, tugging her gloves on properly as she and Argan stepped forward to greet them.
The carriage came to a smooth halt. For a moment, the doors remained closed and then they opened with practiced grace.
Dominic Ashcroft stepped out first, tall and composed as ever, dressed in a midnight blue coat lined with silver thread. His gaze swept across the gathering, pausing on Lyra, then Argan, before briefly flicking toward the Woods and Veltorin cluster. A small nod passed between him and Myron, more instinctive than warm but present.
From where she stood, Irene's eyes flicked to the deep blue of his coat, the color oddly suited him. She said nothing, but her fingers paused briefly at the edge of her own sleeve, a blink slower than usual before she looked away.
Next came Astor.
With one boot thudding onto the ground and a theatrical stretch, he emerged like a man returning from a royal retreat rather than a mere carriage ride. "By the stars, that was the softest seat I've ever had the pleasure of falling asleep in. I think I briefly communed with a higher plane."
"You fall asleep if you sit still for five minutes," Begonia called from the side.
"That's because I'm at peace, darling," he replied with a wink.
And then, the last figure stepped down.
Acacia.
Wrapped in a muted green cloak with soft embroidery of early spring blossoms at the edges, she moved with a quiet grace, not hesitant, but observant. Her eyes flickered across the entrance of the Seymour estate, then to the faces before her: Lyra's warm welcome, Argan's half-smile, Seren's subtle nod, Irene's amused glance, Sienna's curious eyes. Myron, too, watching with unreadable interest.
Acacia didn't speak but she offered a small, genuine smile.
"You're late," Lyra said, stepping forward.
"We had to wait for Astor to finish his dramatic monologue about a leaf," Dominic said dryly.
"It was shaped like a heart, Dominic. Nature was clearly sending me a message."
Argan sighed. "If nature's sending you love letters, we're all doomed."
"My love life is between me and the flora, cousin."
"Then perhaps spare the fauna," Seren muttered from the side, arms still crossed.
Laughter burst through the air like spring wind rattling new leaves.
Begonia leaned toward Irene and whispered with a smirk, "I give it ten minutes before someone ends up in the pond."
Irene arched a brow. "Five, if Astor keeps talking."
Once everyone had taken in the sprawling Seymour estate and exchanged their greetings, Lyra led the way inside, her braid bouncing behind her like a ribbon of sunlight. Argan trailed beside her, tossing the occasional sarcastic comment that earned him a sharp elbow to the ribs or a stifled snort from the others.
"This way!" Lyra beamed, turning down a high-ceilinged corridor lined with warm sconces. "I had the rooms prepared with everyone's preferences in mind, except Astor's. He said 'surprise me.' So I did."
"I'm suddenly afraid," Astor muttered, falling into step behind her.
"You should be," Argan added cheerfully. "She once 'surprised' me by switching all my formal coats with robes covered in stitched frogs."
"They were seasonal," Lyra said with exaggerated offense. "Spring collection."
Irene snorted. "Somehow, that feels deeply Seymour-coded."
The group laughed as Lyra pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a wide, sun-drenched space. Two adjoining suites flanked by ornate columns opened to shared sitting areas lined with books, snacks, and an overly enthusiastic bouquet of lavender.
"Girls on the right, boys on the left. Shared common room in between, so no excuses.
The moment they stepped inside, a soft gasp escaped more than one pair of lips.
The suite was vast and inviting, lit by golden spring sunlight pouring in from tall, arched windows. The shared common room in the center stretched wide, furnished with plush seating in shades of sage and honey-gold. Velvet armchairs circled a low wooden table carved with curling vines, and near the hearth stood a tall bookshelf already stocked with leisure reads, novels, puzzles, and a chessboard that looked suspiciously untouched.
Thick rugs softened their footsteps, and the walls were adorned with oil paintings of blooming gardens and mythic birds in flight. A glass bowl full of fresh citrus fruits sat beside an assortment of notebooks and sketchpads, as if someone had tried to guess every type of guest at once.
To the right, the girls' room opened with a gentle creak of oak doors. Inside, a grand four-poster bed was draped with light silks in dusty pink and cream. The room held three window seats, a vanity cluttered with new brushes and perfume vials, and enough mirrors to satisfy even the most image-conscious guest.
On the opposite side, the boys' room matched in size but leaned toward deep emeralds and walnut wood, with sleek shelves for weapons, books and courtesy of Lyra's whimsy an armchair shaped like a roaring lion that made Astor halt in the doorway.
"No way," he muttered, walking up to it. "This is majestic. I want to take it home."
Dominic, already inspecting the dresser, raised an eyebrow. "It's going to end up in mother's greenhouse with a flower crown, isn't it?"
"Now it definitely is."
Begonia plopped onto the girls' bed with a happy sigh. "I don't know how I'm supposed to leave after just one night. Can we stay forever?"
"I'd give it till dawn before we break something expensive," Irene said, running a finger along the windowsill.
Acacia quietly touched one of the silken drapes, a soft smile blooming. "Feels like we're inside a storybook."
Lyra clapped her hands. "Freshen up quickly, lunch will be in the garden terrace. Yes, I checked, and there are desserts."
Cheers broke out at that. Even Dominic cracked a rare smile as they all drifted toward their rooms, the hum of quiet excitement already filling the air.
Once everyone had freshened up and their bags were left behind, the group made their way down to the garden terrace for lunch.
Low tables were arranged beneath a lattice of flowering vines, where sunlight filtered in gently, dappling the cloths in golden patterns. The scent of rosemary and lemon drifted from steaming platters brought out by smiling staff.
Bowls of buttered saffron rice, roasted root vegetables glazed in honey, and grilled river fish with crisped lemon rind were set out beside baskets of freshly baked bread. There was soft cheese with herbs, tangy pickled plums, and cool jugs of mint and cucumber water. A dish of sweet pear tarts and rose-petal sorbet followed soon after.
"It's not even evening and you've already outdone yourself," Begonia said as she reached for a slice of bread.
"I'm saving the real chaos for the fire tonight," Lyra replied with a wink.
Astor, who had already claimed two tartlets, grinned. "Did I ever mention how much I like it here?"
"It's your first time" Argan said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.