Morning sunlight spilled across the garden, gilding every dew-covered petal in warm shades of gold.
It had changed so much.
Where dead vines once swallowed cracked stone paths, roses now climbed freshly painted trellises. Lavender bordered the walkways, filling the air with a gentle fragrance, while the old fountain, once silent for years now trickled with clear water.
I cradled my teacup between both hands as I admired the view. The book I'd intended to read sat forgotten beside me.
This place had become my favorite corner of the estate.
Funny since I'd only restored the garden because I couldn't stand looking at something so painfully neglected.
But now I couldn't imagine the manor without it.
"I think she'd be happy."
The words slipped out before I realized I'd spoken aloud. I blinked.
She. The duchess. Elara's mother not mine.
I'd never met the woman.
Everything I knew about her came from whispers old servants who still smiled whenever they spoke of her. They said she'd preferred flowers over jewels, dirt beneath her fingernails over embroidered gloves. Every morning, before breakfast, she'd wander the garden herself, pruning roses and planting herbs despite the protests of half the household.
Then she'd died.
And the garden died with her.
The Duke never ordered it restored.
The original Elara never visited it again.
Everyone simply... let it disappear.
Until I came along.
"You've done remarkable work."
I looked up.
Sebastian stood a respectful distance away, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
Edward was away on an errand which left us alone.
The morning breeze stirred a few loose strands of his blond hair, though his expression remained as composed as ever.
"You almost sound impressed."
"I am."
I grinned.
"I should mark this day on the calendar."
"I don't believe it warrants such significance."
"Oh? Compliments from you are rare enough to qualify as historical events."
For the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth twitched.
There it was again.
I'd noticed it a few times recently.
Most people would swear Sebastian Hawthorne never smiled.
They simply weren't paying enough attention.
Comfortable silence settled between us.
Unlike many nobles I'd met, Sebastian never seemed compelled to fill every quiet moment with meaningless conversation.
He simply stood watch while I enjoyed my tea.
Honestly, I appreciated that.
Footsteps approached from behind him.
One of the younger guards bowed respectfully.
"My Lord Captain."
I forgot to mention that Sebastian had been appointed Captain of the guards due to his amazing capabilities. I took the credit of course since I was that one who employed him.
Sebastian turned his head slightly.
"What is it?"
The guard hesitated for half a heartbeat.
"...His Grace requests Lady Elara's presence in his study."
There it was.
The consequences of my actions.
I carefully set my teacup back onto its saucer.
"So," I said with a sigh, "my execution has finally been scheduled."
The younger guard looked horrified.
Sebastian, on the other hand, didn't even blink. He seemed more used to my pessimistic behaviour.
"I believe His Grace merely intends to speak with you, my lady."
"That is somehow even less comforting."
I rose from my chair and smoothed the wrinkles from my skirt.
I wasn't surprised.
If anything, I was surprised it had taken this long.
Over the past few weeks I'd restored a forgotten garden, spent entirely too much time in the kitchens, thanked servants for their work, attended a tea party without causing a social catastrophe, and generally behaved like someone who hadn't read the original Lady Elara's character profile.
People noticed patterns.
Especially powerful people.
And if the Duke of Valemont hadn't noticed, he wouldn't have remained one of the most influential men in the Empire.
"Shall we?" I asked.
Sebastian inclined his head.
"As you wish."
...
The walk from the eastern gardens to the Duke's private wing wasn't particularly long.
Unfortunately, anxiety has an incredible ability to stretch time.
Servants bowed as I passed.
A month ago, many of them would've visibly flinched.
Now most simply looked nervous.
Progress.
Small progress, but progress nonetheless.
I clasped my hands behind my back as we walked.
"Sebastian?"
"Yes, my lady?"
"On a scale of one to certain death, how terrifying is His Grace?"
"From what I've heard, very."
I glanced sideways at him.
"I appreciate your honesty."
"It seemed preferable to false reassurance."
"I was hoping you'd lie."
"I have never found lies particularly useful."
"No?"
"They require remembering."
I laughed.
"You know, I like you."
"I am aware."
"...You sound awfully confident."
"You've informed me of that fact three separate times this week."
"...Have I?"
"You have."
I groaned.
"I need better conversation topics."
"The library contains several collections of poetry."
I stared at him.
"Are you suggesting I start quoting poetry?"
"You requested new material."
"You're enjoying this."
"I wouldn't presume."
Liar.
Not a very convincing one, either.
That tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away.
The younger guards following behind us in place of Edward exchanged thoroughly confused glances.
They'd probably expected their lady and captain to discuss security or today's schedule.
Instead, they got whatever this was.
By the time we reached the western wing, the mood shifted entirely.
Even though it was my second time here it still unsettled me how quiet the halls were.
Portraits of former dukes watched from the walls with expressions severe enough to make smiling seem like a criminal offense.
The carpets became thicker.
The decorations simpler and more elegant. If that was even possible.
Even the servants walked differently here.
There was no unnecessary movement.
No idle chatter.
Everything felt disciplined.
At the end of the corridor stood a pair of towering oak doors engraved with the Valemont crest.
The Duke's study.
Sebastian stopped walking.
"I cannot accompany you beyond this point."
"I figured."
He was gave a silent nod and I turned toward the doors just as the butler bowed and pushed them open.
The study was enormous.
Bookshelves stretched from polished floor to vaulted ceiling. Maps covered one wall, each marked with colored pins and careful notes. Military banners hung beside polished suits of ceremonial armor.
The room smelled faintly of cedar, parchment and ink.
Behind an immense mahogany desk sat the Duke of Viremont.
My father.
He didn't acknowledge my arrival.
His pen continued gliding across the page as if I didn't exist.
The doors closed quietly behind me.
I waited.
One minute.
Then another.
It was a deliberate power move.
Every passing second reminded me whose time held value here.
Finally, the scratching of his pen ceased.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"Sit."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
I crossed the room and lowered myself into the chair opposite him.
Only then did he raise his eyes.
Sharp gray eyes met my red ones.
He didn't speak.
He simply studied me.
Trying to reconcile the daughter before him with the reports lying on his desk.
After what felt like an eternity, he rested one hand atop a neatly stacked pile of documents.
"Tell me, Elara."
His gaze never left mine.
"When did you begin tending your mother's garden?"