That night, Ilaria dreamed of her childhood. It began as it always did. The world was golden, the air thick with the scent of oranges from the palace grove as laughter spilled like a song between marble pillars.
She was small and barefooted, her hair a wild tumble as she ran through the courtyard fountains, her shrieks echoing as water glittered around her like falling glass. Serenya chased after her with a towel clutched in both hands, breathless and smiling despite herself.
Even as a child she had been graceful and steady, always the responsible one, but Ilaria had a talent for tugging her straight into chaos.
"Aria, wait! Mama's going to scold you again!" Serenya called, though the warning lost all its weight when her sister splashed her with a sweep of her foot.
Water hit Serenya's robes. She squeaked, then burst into helpless laughter.
"No she won't!" Ilaria shouted back, spinning through another fountain spray. "Because I'll ask Papa to defend me!"
