My eyes fluttered open—slow, sunlight was already cutting through the curtains. Bright, golden, and inconsiderate—considering yesterday was cold with grief.
Yesterday.
My stomach twisted. I dragged a hand over my face, letting out a long breath.
"Iris," I muttered into the pillow. "You'll be the end of me."
I tried to ignore the lingering warmth in my chest—the memory of his voice, quiet and close.
Wasn't helping.
So, I decided to wash the memory away in bath, before it manifested any further, I swung my legs over the bed.
My muscles had other ideas on things. The room tilted, and before I could even curse—I was falling, I caught myself inches from the carpet, "ow!" My right arm wasn't fully healed, and I landed with a soft—thud.
"Shit."
My face met the floor.
I turned my head, and laid on my profile for a few seconds, staring blankly at the polished wood, then blew the resilient strands of hair hanging over my face. "Well that was graceful" I said flatly.
The hall outside was already alive.
Footsteps.
Murmurs.
Whispers.
" She fell asleep in his arms, it was a sight to behold."
"His Highness carried her himself?"
"I saw it with my very eyes I tell you!, the Dowager smiled! "
" You all should shut up, they are children."
My fingers curled in the rug. pushing up.
{They want me to hear them, don't they.}
I pushed myself up, wobbly–barely standing. My reflection in the mirror nearly startled me.
Hair wild. Skin pale. Eyes puffed, but....Icy-blue. Cheeks creased from blanket wrinkle.
"Beautiful.." I sighed. "Just..."
I reached, hands ghosting my eyes in the reflection, a smiled tugged at my lips. "I need to eat something"
The sunlight spilled in brighter.
.><><><.
For the first time in years, someone helped me with my bath. It felt strange—to have hands other than mine or Emily's undo the laces, someone else pour the water, rinse my hair. I'd always sent them away before. But this morning, my body couldn't argue when they stayed.
Steam filled the room, soft and translucent. One of the maids hummed under her breath, too quiet to place. I just sat there, eyes closed, trying not to flinch every time they touched the bruises I got from sitting on grass.
Once they finished with my bath, they dressed me, in layers of linen, soft underthings, and finally the gown.
"Milady, the corse—"
"No corset," I said before she finished.
They exchanged looks— silent, nervous ones—but no one argued.
The gown they chose was simple: long satin, white as dawn, the sleeves gathered at the wrists, the fabric brushed cool against my skin. So breathable. I brushed the skirt, studying myself in the mirror.
Just me.
"Thank you," I said, voice quieter than I meant.
They curtsied and left, then quiet returned—thick, as I expected. I breathed it in, then out, then stepped out.
My shoes clicked through the marble. Down the stairs.The manor was already long awake—servants moving, curtains drawn, the familiar scent of father's brewing tea drifting faintly through the halls.
Whispers died as I passed. I ignored them easily.
My hands clenched tightly against my skirt.
{Just another morning, just another morning.}
.><><><.
I thought about going to see Theo, But ... just couldn't, if he woke up Infront of me I'm not sure how I'd react. I didn't want to disappoint me.
{That doesn't sound like me at all } I laughed softly at the thought.
So I headed to mother's retreat. The greenhouse.
The way was quite —empty. The air grew warmer the closer I got, heavy with the faint sweetness of soil and dew. As I pushed the glass door open, the scent hit me full—earthy, green, alive.
Exactly as i left it.
The sun brought it's full beauty to sight, vines curled lazily along the walls, pots lined neatly in their usual chaos of colors and sizes. The lilies still droop, and sunherbs— too dry. I bit my lip. "This isn't going to be easy. "
I rolled my sleeves up, careful of my arm.
The watering can was still beside the bench, half full. I knelt and started from the far side—Mother's side. She always arranged them by tone, "because colors deserve to sit beside their kind, not by size" she'd say. I'd teased her for it once. She'd laugh, said I was too logical for my own good.
I couldn't water a single plant without hearing her voice.
"Don't drown them, Iris."
"They're thirsty." I'd insist.
"They need patience more than pity. Go read a book, it's what you're good at"
I caught myself smiling. Softly. Sadly. "Always so dramactic" I muttered, tipping a little too much water into a pot.
My chest tugged tightly. I pressed a hand to it, breath shaky. Inhaling slow—holding back ... closing my eyes.
{God, I loved that woman.} I admitted.
Once done, I sat on the stool she always used, staring at my work. Proud for some reason. Dust drifted in it, golden and lazy.
"My responsibility now, isn't it?" I said quietly to nodding. "i'm not getting use to this any time soon."
The greenhouse was still. And for a moment, i wanted to believe she was listening.
.><><><.
That morning, Duke Sylvester's study was without motion. Not even wind whispered, the curtains hung half-drawn, slant light cutting across the shelves through the window, in narrow gold. Papers lay where they'd fallen, the quill abandoned where he'd dropped it the night before. He sat behind the desk, posture loose, dark shadows bruising the skin beneath his pretty eye–sleepless, pale.
He couldn't sleep, not in this house–where her scent lingered at every concer. But then again he didn't want to sleep, for fear that he might lose the scent when he woke up.
A memory slipped in.
"Sylvester. If you die drowned by workload, I won't bring you back." She'd tease him, sitting on the couch across the room. Legs crossed.
" That suggests you could."
" Yes, I'm no ordinary woman yo-"
A soft knock came. And she vanished.
"Enter" he said, voice calm.
The door creaked open, and Rosie–the head maid–stepped in carrying a silver tray, steam curling from a porcelain tea-pot, with a teacup beside it.
She set it carefully on his desk.
"Thank you."
She pours into the cup, the ginger scent filled the space between them.
"That's tea, I asked for coffee."
"Yes. it's tea, filled with enough melatonin to help you sleep."
" I have a lot to do, I can't sleep."
She didn't reply, just served the tea.
He didn't look at her. "Go on, what else do you have to say?."
" With all due respect My Lord, you are an absolute Mess." she replied without missing a beat.
He exhaled softly through his nose. "So it seems, but I'm alright. Truly, I am." He looks up at her finally.
"You'd say the same even with a sword in your gut"
Her eyes softened just a bit. "You are not a boy anymore Vester, You have four children who need you now, more than ever, And what are you doing for them?."
"I can't face them, Rosie. If only–"
"If only nothing!," she cuts in "I know asking you to move on is cruel, but." She paused, takes his hand in hers, her voice trembled softly. "If not for yourself, do it for them."
That landed—quiet,heavy. He didn't answer right away, gaze shifting toward the balcony doors.
Then Rosie finally left. The silence pressed again.
He stood up, pushing the balcony open. Letting the bright air outside fill the stuffy room, the gardens stretching endlessly below. Somewhere in all that greenery was the greenhouse — he could almost see Iris in it, kneeling in the dirt, stubborn as ever.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "She's stronger than I am, Lauttha" he murmured.
He leaned against the railing, The sunlight caught in the golden rim — and suddenly it wasn't just the garden anymore, but Lauttha, laughing as she stood barefoot in the soil, waving at him like an exciting child. Her laughter lingered even when the wind didn't.
He closed his eyes. "Lauttha…" the word barely left him.
Inside, the tea was growing cold.
.><><><.
The day passes before I even noticed.
I'd done everything I could to keep busy — anything that wouldn't let me think for long.
I ate breakfast — tried to— though I didn't taste much of it.
After that, I found reasons to move. I fed the horses. Watched the birds wrestle over twigs, betting on who would win. Even tried to pack the dry laundry off the line, the maids weren't having it of course.
"Please, my lady, you'll wrinkle them—!" near tears.
{It wouldn't be the end of the world, would it? }
From walking the courtyard to watching guards sharpening swords—training. To the edges of the orchard, I forced myself to be curious.
Everywhere was sun-warmed grass and routine. Life went on, just like that. And somehow, that made it worse.
By the time the sun descended, and the horizon painted orange, my legs ached. I stood by the veranda, watching the first fireflies blink awake.
Then came the voice — steady, formal.
"My lady."
I turned. A guard stood at the archway, helm in hand.
"The Duke requests your presence in his study."
{I expected as much.}
I nodded, brushing off my skirts. "Thank you, I'll head there now."
He bowed and left, steps fading into the hall.
I looked down at my hands — faint dirt under my nails, clenched into fists.
The light was dying fast, sinking into the trees, and with it, all the small distractions I'd clung to.
"Right," I muttered. Letting out a sharp breath. "Let's get this over with"
I turned from the veranda and started toward the manor.