After her meeting with the queen, she’s escorted to her room by the same footman who’d shown her to the queen’s sitting room. But before Aster can utter so much as a word of thanks, he’s already gone.

I know he’s a footman, but isn’t that a little too quick?

Amused despite herself, Aster steps into her room and is quickly overcome by the scent of flowers.

It’s a familiar perfume; sweet, spicy, and the last thing she had expected in this place. She traces the source of it to a tall vase of carnations sitting on the study table in her new room, the lush white blossoms tinged with a pink so dark they seemed almost maroon.

“Oh.” Nostalgia catches her breath in her throat. How had they known?

Wide windows by her study area beckon the sunlight in with open arms, especially welcome when there was so little of it in this weather. A large bookshelf is nestled by the wall beside her study’s desk, shelves bare and waiting to be filled. As she wanders further inside, she steps onto a round rug under her feet, patterned with more flowers. Not the carnations she loves so much, but a motley of spring flowers interwoven with tangles of leaves and vines. A set of wide double doors stands sentry by her study area, leading out to what she assumes is her room’s accompanying balcony. The panes of glass in the doors’ wood make for the perfect frame, capturing the marble of the banister set against a wide swath of sky. Perfect for stargazing, she thinks to herself dreamily.

A dressing table sits by the entrance to her balcony, its accompanying mirror fitted with a delicate frame of carved dark wood. But the true centrepiece of her room is the large canopy bed against the wall, fitted with deep purple curtains and silk sheets. The luggage she’d brought along from home sits at the foot of her bed, trunks waiting to be unpacked.

Despite not having seen much of the palace yet, she has a hunch that her quarters are somewhat less lavish compared to the rest of the place. Her room doesn't seem to be any less grand or comfortable, but it feels like special care had been taken so the décor would suit her tastes.

It feels a little like home, in a way.

While the Vastein Estate is esteemed and charming in its own right, Aster’s childhood home isn't a place of excessive luxury. Her father has never been one for opulence or overindulging, and she’d taken after him in that regard. Rather than golden embellishments or glittering crystal, her home had adorned itself with mother nature’s gifts. Flowers of every colour and variety bloomed on the grounds, decorating the Vastein Estate as grandly as any precious gemstone could.

Not to say that her father is a flowers kind of man. He's more steel and armour and practicality to a fault.

Yet, he always crumbled when it came to her mother.

“The gardens weren’t always this beautiful,” she remembers the maids in the estate telling her as a child. “Not half as grand as they are now. But then the Duke met his wife, and now you can’t take half a step without smelling the scent of flowers.”

For more than anyone else, her mother loved flowers dearly. And a personal favourite of both hers and Aster’s, were carnations. The memory of her mother brings to mind her broken necklace, and Aster slips a hand down her dress, fumbling for the locket where she’d stashed it earlier.

Oh Hale, had it actually slipped out while she was walking?

She retraces her steps in her mind, trying to remember if she’d felt anything slip out of her skirts. So caught up in her recollection, she barely registers the quiet knock on the door, nor the person who slips into her room moments later.

“Good afternoon, Lady Aster. I am-“

Aster looks up to meet the girl’s gaze, a hand still shoved down the front of her bodice. “Uh,” she says eloquently. “I can explain.”