The morning sun over the Ruo Han estate spilled through the weeping willow branches like warm, liquid gold. The air smelled faintly of wet soil, crushed jasmine, and sweet steamed lotus cakes—a soft, gentle scent that felt alien to the little girl raised on northern ice.
Inside Sylaris bed chamber, a small war was being waged.
"I said no!" a tiny, fierce voice echoed through the carved lattice doors.
Sylaris stood planted in the center of her spacious chamber, her short legs spread wide in a defensive martial stance. She was clutching the rock to her chest like a shield, glaring at the three maidservants—Cisca, Rica, Zora and her aunt who stood hovering over her with armfuls of pastel-colored silks.
"Oh, come now, Xia" Riru coaxed, holding up a sky-blue robe embroidered with delicate white butterflies. "Look at how pretty this one is. It is soft, it does not itch, and if you wear it, I will personally bribe the head chef to bring you three whole plates of candied hawthorns"
