Together with Elira, Joana, Silvia, Lucien, Luke, and Sylas, they found themselves in a charming picnic area. Joana had decided to organize a picnic—it had been quite some time since their last one, back when Sylas and Silvia were still little children. Now, with the bright day stretching before them, birds soaring into the sky, flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and children laughing and playing all around—some kicking balls, others running freely—the atmosphere was lively and serene.
"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Mr. Joana remarked, as Mrs. Joana settled herself on a neatly spread carpet on the grass. She wore a long-sleeved teal jacket with a high collar, cinched with a black belt, paired with a cream-coloured skirt trimmed with lace, and a floral hat perched atop her silver hair, neatly tied in a bun. Beside her, Silvia busied herself arranging the picnic food, clad in a white blouse with ruffled sleeves, a long green skirt patterned with flowers, and a brown belt. Her hair flowed loosely around her shoulders.
Elira smiled across the small group, and seated behind Silvia and her mother, Sylas quietly read a book, lost in his usual calm self. Elira wore a delicate white blouse with lace trim, a pale blue bodice, and a long skirt. Her soft brown hair was tied in a low ponytail with gentle curls framing her face, and her golden eyes sparkled as she observed the lively scene. Sylas, in his usual white long-sleeve shirt, black trousers, brown belt, and boots, remained focused on his book, the quiet presence grounding the lively picnic.
"It's such a pity Cassian isn't here," Elira said softly, her golden eyes dimming slightly with the absence of her friend. Mrs. Joana noticed the sadness and gently sought to comfort her.
"Do not worry, Elira… I'm sure Cassian is well," Joana reassured her with a warm smile.
"Really? How can you be so sure?" Elira asked, curiosity lacing her voice.
"Well… my father and the King were close friends," Silvia explained casually, slicing bread for strawberry sandwiches. Elira blinked, slightly shocked—she hadn't expected that the Emperor was so close to Sylas and Silvia's family.
"Oh… that explains why you are so Close with the royals," Elira murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"But how did you end up marrying the Commander, Mrs. Joana?" she asked, nibbling on one of the cookies Joana had made.
Joana chuckled, cheeks tinged with a delicate blush, her palms brushing them as if a shy young woman. "Oh, Elira… it's a long story… ehehe."
"You silly mother…" Silvia teased. "Actually, my mother was a war medic and my father a commander. They became partners during the war, though they often clashed over trivial matters."
"Really? But it looks so sweet when I see Mrs. Joana with the Commander," Elira said, genuinely fascinated by the tale of their love.
"Hah, yes… it's not obvious at all. Once enemies, now lovers," Joana chuckled softly, a fondness in her tone.
"And that's not all," Silvia added between bites of bread. "My father… he was once the Empress's former lover."
Elira's eyes widened at the revelation, while Joana gently tapped Silvia, cautioning her voice in case others at the picnic overheard. Sylas, however, continued listening quietly from behind his book, intrigued yet silent.
"Really?" Elira asked, looking at Joana with a questioning gaze. Mrs. Joana exhaled deeply, preparing to explain everything.
"Actually, the Empress and my husband were deeply in love," Joana began.
"Was she born into nobility, Mrs. Joana? Is that why it didn't work out?" Elira interjected. Joana corrected her with a soft smile.
"No… the Empress was a commoner before her relationship with Sybil. The reason they didn't stay together was due to Sybil's strict father. Sybil, much like Sylas, had many shortcomings as a young captain. His father demanded excellence and military discipline, and the Crowholt family was tasked with protecting the Highthorne Kingdom. To avoid distraction, Sybil was forced to part from the Empress, so he could rise to Commander." Joana paused, glancing at her son, Sylas, who remained absorbed in his book, unaware of the weight of her words.
"So… how did you two end up together, Mother?" Silvia asked, curious, having never known the full story. Joana drew a faint, bittersweet smile.
"I was merely an outsider to the three closest friends—Sybil, the Emperor, and the Empress. I had loved your father, Silvia, for a long time. But when I saw how madly in love he was with the Empress… it broke my heart."
"So… that's why you always quarreled with the Commander, to hide your feelings?" Elira asked gently.
"Yes… when My Husband decided to join his first war, it just so happened that I was there too, helping tend to the wounded soldiers," Joana said.
"And that's where you and the Commander grew closer, Mrs. Joana?" Elira asked again with curious eyes.
"Yes…" Joana's smile was faint, touched with a shadow of sadness. Yet her expression suddenly brightened as a memory came to her. "I still remember the day my husband was badly injured. I was the one who cleaned his entire body," she said, laughing awkwardly with a teasing glint in her eye.
Elira blinked, unsure what to say. "Cleaned his… entire body? You mean—" She stopped mid-sentence as the realization struck her. Her golden eyes widened, and a blush instantly spread across her cheeks. In her mind, she could picture the Commander completely bare, and the thought made her heart skip. She turned her face away, mortified, while Silvia's laughter rang through the air, light and knowing.
Silvia's grin turned mischievous as she looked between her mother and Elira. It was clear she understood exactly what her mother had implied—after all, both she and Joana had already lived through the kind of intimacy Elira could only imagine. Poor Elira, on the other hand, flushed from embarrassment, her innocence shining through.
"You two, that's enough. Elira is innocent," Sylas cut in at last, his voice low but firm. He closed his book with a quiet thud and turned towards them, his calm expression betraying only the faintest trace of amusement.
Just then, Lucien and Luke returned, fresh from their game of ball, their laughter echoing through the field.
"Grandma, what are you talking about?" Luke asked, panting slightly, his white high-collared shirt clinging to him from sweat. He wore grey trousers with suspenders, his hair sticking slightly to his forehead. Silvia smiled fondly and guided him to sit on her lap, wiping the sweat from his face with a small handkerchief.
Lucien, dressed neatly in a white shirt and blue vest with golden trim, walked up And sit beside his Wife, Sitting close to Silvia. When Silvia finished tending to Luke, she turned her attention to Lucien, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead with a Wife's tender care.
Elira couldn't help but smile faintly at the sight before her—a simple, warm scene of a family wrapped in quiet affection. A loving wife, a devoted husband, caring children… such a gentle picture of love. Yet deep within, Elira felt a twinge of envy. She had never known what it felt like to be cared for by a mother. Back then, her own mother, Elinor, had often neglected her, leaving Elira to grow up with quiet longing for this kind of affection.
"You want some?" came a soft voice beside her. Startled, Elira turned to see Sylas offering her a sandwich.
Unbeknownst to her, Sylas had noticed the wistful look in her eyes earlier—how she smiled while watching Silvia care for her son. Something about it stirred him, as though he understood what she yearned for. To comfort her in his own quiet way, he extended the food toward her.
"I'm fine," she said gently, smiling. "What about you, Sylas? Aren't you going to eat?" She picked up an apple and a small knife, carefully peeling it with steady hands.
"No… I'd rather have an apple," Sylas replied, his eyes following the graceful movements of her fingers as she peeled the fruit.
Without another word, Elira sliced the apple neatly into small pieces, placed them on a plate, and handed it to him.
"Thank you," he murmured, his tone cool as ever. But before he could take a bite, he let out a deep yawn, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Are you sleepy, Sylas?" Joana asked with gentle concern, glancing at her son.
"No, Mother. It's nothing," he replied calmly, taking a bite of the apple.
The family continued their meal in easy cheer, laughter mixing with the soft rustle of leaves around them. Yet behind Sylas's composed face was quiet exhaustion. He had hardly slept the night before—his mind restless with worry, unsure whether he would face punishment for what had happened, and haunted by the thought that Elira might still blame herself.
But what lingered most in his mind was the memory of holding her close—the warmth of her in his arms, the weight of her against his chest, and the way he had wrapped his cloak around her shoulders that night.
He remembered thinking, "So this is what it feels like to hold a woman."
That thought had followed him through the night, keeping him awake until dawn. And now, seated quietly under the morning sun, every gentle yawn was a silent trace of that sleepless memory.
Moments later, when the sun had risen high and the warmth began to kiss the meadow, Lucien and Luke decided to visit a nearby shop that sold toys, while Silvia and Mrs. Joana went off to buy more drinks—their picnic stock of juice had long run dry.
Meanwhile, only Elira and Sylas remained in the quiet field where they had held their picnic. The laughter of the others drifted faintly from afar, leaving the air soft and serene.
Sylas, still yawning, struggled to hide his drowsiness. His vision blurred slightly, and though he tried to force himself to stay awake, fatigue was already claiming him. Elira watched him closely, her gaze curious yet full of gentle concern.
"Are you all right, Sylas?" she asked softly, noticing how he shook his head faintly while attempting to focus on the book in his hands.
"I'm fine. Don't worry," he murmured coolly, lifting a page as if to prove his words.
Elira tilted her head with a small smile. "You know, reading when you're sleepy only makes it worse."
Sylas gave a quiet chuckle, though he could feel she was right. The more he read, the heavier his eyes became. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he set the book aside and gazed at the scenery—the sunlight spilling through the trees, the people passing by in the distance.
"If you're that sleepy, Sylas, you can rest on my lap," Elira said, half-teasing.
The words caught him off guard. His eyes widened slightly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. Elira, too, froze, realizing what she had just said. For a moment, both of them fell into silence, unsure of what to do.
For Sylas, the offer was almost unthinkable. Elira was a woman, after all—and no matter how innocent her gesture seemed, it felt improper. He was raised to respect such boundaries, especially toward a noble lady, though Elira herself seemed blissfully unaware of such etiquette.
"No… I'm fine, Elira," he said quietly, forcing himself to stay awake as he glanced around the park—at the strolling couples, the families laughing, the gentle hum of life all around them. But exhaustion finally won. His sight blurred again, and before he could steady himself, his head tilted and rested against Elira's shoulder.
Startled, Elira instinctively caught him. Sylas blinked in confusion, his head still leaning against her, while Elira smiled down at him, amused and softly affectionate.
"You stubborn man," she murmured, laughter lacing her voice. "Come now—just sleep on my lap until you feel better."
She tapped her lap lightly with both hands, inviting him. Sylas hesitated, torn between pride and exhaustion. Yet when his gaze fell upon her lap—soft and warm beneath the sunlight—his resistance faded. Slowly, almost shyly, he lay down, resting his head upon her lap, facing away so she wouldn't see the faint color rising in his cheeks.
It was an unfamiliar feeling. Though he had once fallen asleep in his mother's lap, this was different. Elira was not his mother—nor even truly family by blood. Her warmth, her scent of wildflowers, the rhythm of her breathing… all of it stirred something deep and strange within him.
Feeling him stiffen slightly, Elira smiled. She brushed her fingers gently through his silver hair, her touch light as air.
"What are you doing?" Sylas asked in a low voice, startled by her sudden touch.
Elira laughed softly, her tone tender. "Just brushing your hair to help you relax a bit. You're too tense."
She continued to comb her fingers through his hair, her touch slow and soothing. Within minutes, Sylas began to melt beneath her hands, his body easing, his breathing steadying. Her lap felt like a cloud—soft, comforting—and the floral scent of her dress wrapped around him like a dream. For the first time in a long while, he felt peace—pure, unguarded peace.
If Elira had been born a noblewoman, Sylas thought drowsily, countless men would surely wish to marry her. She was far too gentle, too delicate, too kind.
"Tomorrow, you're going back to headquarters, aren't you?" Elira asked quietly, her voice almost a whisper carried by the wind.
"Yes… though I'd rather not," he murmured, eyes still closed.
"Why?"
"So many duties," he sighed. "It's dreadfully dull. And Cassian—he's unbearably noisy."
Elira giggled at that, picturing the ever-annoying Cassian pestering Sylas around the mansion. Yet even as she laughed, something in her heart tightened—a quiet sadness at the thought of missing their bickering.
"You know, Sylas," she said, still combing his hair, "the house will feel lonely without you two around."
Sylas gave a faint hum, half-asleep. "You'll miss Cassian's noise?"
"Perhaps a little," Elira admitted with a small grin. "Especially when you scold him. That always made me laugh."
Sylas' lips curved faintly, his words slurring as sleep began to take him. "Me too, Elira… I'll miss yo—"
But the sentence never finished. His voice faded, and moments later, he was fast asleep.
Elira blinked in surprise, then smiled softly. Though his words were cut short, she already knew what he meant.
"Me too, Sylas…" she whispered, her tone barely louder than the wind.
She turned her gaze to the sky, where the soft blue stretched endlessly above them. A gentle breeze danced through her brown hair, carrying the scent of grass and sunlight, while Sylas slept peacefully upon her lap—his silver hair glimmering beneath the morning light, and her heart quietly learning what warmth truly meant.