She had remembered everything.
Her name.
Her mother's voice.
The feel of silk gloves and iron training.
The weight of expectation draped over her shoulders before she even knew how to stand and breath.
Chrysanthia Grey.
She had whispered it into the night like a curse and a prayer.
But it didn't feel like her name.
Not completely.
That girl had belonged to another world. A world of golden halls and ancient bloodlines. A world that had perhaps mourned her once… and would come to know her again.
She had not been unloved. Only lost.
And now she was remembered.
But memory, even when it's kind, doesn't make everything simple.
Here, in this house, Ashcroft, things had been different. Not colder. Just… unfamiliar. Quieter.
The scent of parchment and polished wood. The strange hush of the halls. Astor's dramatic loyalty. The Duchess's unexpected warmth...
Even in the short time she had spent among them, a part of her had started to shift.
Not because she'd been forced to.
But because something here had asked nothing of her, yet offered space to become.
Not quite belonging. But not exile either.
A strange, fragile middle ground. One she hadn't expected to grieve when her memories returned.
But she did.
She grieved the ordinary girl she'd been with for a while. The one who didn't carry a name the world might kill for. The one who had sat by windows with books, who'd listened instead of leading, who had waited without knowing what for.
She looked down at the tea cooling in her cup, her reflection distorted in the surface. A princess. A sister. A friend. A stranger. A memory. Which one would she have to become tomorrow?
And which one was she now?
She wasn't sure.
But for the first time in days, that not-knowing didn't feel like a failure.
It felt… open.
Like something still unwritten.
Dominic knelt quietly by the window where Acacia sat, his eyes fixed on her as if afraid to break the fragile moment. The afternoon sunlight bathed the room in warm gold, softening the tension that clung to them both.
She reached out a hand and gently touched his shoulder. "Get up, Dominic. Please."
He looked surprised but rose slowly to his feet, brushing dust from his knees. She gave a small, tired smile and asked softly, "Did you have lunch?"
Dominic shook his head. "No… I didn't. I needed to see you."
Her gaze held his, steady and kind. "I'm glad you came."
He swallowed, voice low and uneven. "I want to make things right. I know I hurt you."
She shook her head slightly. "You don't have to fix everything, not right now... Just… be here."
Dominic's eyes searched hers, the weight of regret clear. "I'm sorry. For doubting you. For everything."
Acacia's hand lifted to cover his. "We'll figure it out. Together."
The room was still, filled only with quiet hope and the fading warmth of the afternoon sun.
Dominic took a shaky breath, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even himself. "I was so afraid… afraid that if I trusted you, I'd lose you. Not just to the truth, but to everything that comes with it. I didn't know how to protect you from all of it."
Acacia looked at him, steady and calm. "I don't need protection, Dominic," she said gently. "But thank you… for thinking about me."
Her voice softened even further. "I really don't need to be shielded. But if I ever do need help… I hope you'll be there."
Dominic met her gaze, something quiet and humbled settling in his chest. He nodded.
"Always."
Just then, a soft knock broke the silence. The door eased open and Astor stepped in, carrying two plates. He paused, took in the scene and offered a small, knowing smile.
"I figured neither of you ate."
He stepped closer, placing the plates down on the low table, then glanced at the tea tray nearby.
"Oh, there's a plate here," he said with mock surprise. "But I have better options, myplates. Let's have this with that."
Acacia let out a soft laugh. Dominic raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. "You mean the ones you stole from the kitchen again?"
Astor gave a dramatic shrug. "Borrowed. Ashcroft kitchens survive my presence, miraculously."
The three of them sat together, the weight in the room slowly lifting with each bite and shared glance. The conversation stayed light, comfortable.
Somewhere between the clink of silverware and the soft warmth of familiarity, laughter returned.
It felt like the beginning of something whole.
Later that evening, the halls of Ashcroft Manor had grown quieter, as if the day itself had exhaled. Candles flickered gently along the walls, casting long shadows and golden light across the stone floors.
Down one corridor, the Duchess stood in the drawing room, carefully arranging a fresh vase of wildflowers. Her fingers lingered on each stem, thoughtful. She had always believed small beauty helped soften heavy truths.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
She didn't turn.
"You're walking more quietly than usual," she said softly. "Guilt suits your footsteps."
Astor stepped into the room, unbothered by her accuracy. "It was a late lunch. And a long conversation."
The Duchess turned now, her expression unreadable at first. But after a beat, she smiled, faint and approving.
"She spoke with him?"
He nodded. "They're… beginning to believe and understand each other again."
"That's more than I hoped for."
Astor walked to the window and looked out into the dusky gardens. "Do you think it'll hold?"
She joined him there, her voice calm and sure. "If it doesn't, we'll remind them what does."
Outside, a breeze stirred the leaves, quiet and slow, like the breath before something new begins.
That night, the manor was hushed. Even the wind moved gently, rustling through the tall hedges beyond the windows.
Acacia stood alone in her room, brushing her hair by candlelight. The warm glow softened the edges of the quiet space around her.
She set the brush down and looked out the window. The stars hung quiet above Ashcroft, undemanding.
In their silence, she found something close to peace.
A knock, this time gentle.
"Come in," she said.
It was the Duchess.
Her voice warm, familiar. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."
Acacia turned toward her, surprised, then smiled softly. "Better, I think. The day was long… but it ended better than it began."
The Duchess stepped inside, hands folded before her. "That's all we can ask for, most days."
For a while, they stood together in companionable silence.
The Duchess looked at her, eyes soft and steady. "I just wanted to tell you, no matter who you are, Acacia or Chrysanthia, the princess.. know that you are still ours. We will always be there for you."
Acacia blinked, the words sinking deep, wrapping around the parts of her still unsure, still afraid.
She nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."