The social season was drawing to an end, with one last major event before the new term at Ashwood Academy: Duchess Madeline’s grand banquet to welcome the academic year.  

In the capital, this marked not only the end of the glittering balls and banquets but also the anticipation of another cycle of fierce academic competition at the prestigious school. 

Ashwood Academy, which had begun admitting female students only five years ago, was a critical institution for the children of the nobility. Yet, for many families, sending daughters to the academy was more about building connections and securing advantageous marriages than education or pursuing true scholarship.  

But, beneath all the traditions and social posturing, one thing was paramount at Ashwood Academy: the academic rankings. 

 The rankings were more than just a matter of pride. Every year, the list of top-performing students was sent directly to the King himself, who took personal interest in the brightest minds of the academy. It was not just a ceremonial gesture; it was a gateway.  

The students who earned top marks were granted automatic admission to the capital’s university—an institution renowned for its stringent entrance criteria and its ability to shape the future leaders of the kingdom.  

For most, acceptance into the university was a golden ticket, a bridge that practically guaranteed a successful start to their career, whether in government, law, or commerce. 

 Since his enrollment two years ago, Sebastian Carlisle von Edmonton had held the coveted top spot, and this year, the pressure was higher than ever. His mother, Duchess Madeline, had watched with great satisfaction as her son climbed to the top of the rankings, but she knew that maintaining that position was crucial.  

The capital's university was not just an academic institution—it was a direct path to influence and power, and she had every intention of ensuring Sebastian’s continued success. The upcoming term was critical. 

Standing by the grand windows of the Edmonton estate, Duchess Madeline’s thoughts were already on the term ahead. Sebastian’s top ranking wasn’t just a matter of family pride; it had a political weight, and she knew the King would be watching.  

Securing a place in the capital’s university would open doors not just for him, but for his family. Failure was not an option, and every term at Ashwood was a step closer to the future his mother had carefully planned for him. 

As Sebastian prepared for his third year at Ashwood, he could feel the weight of expectations pressing down on him. The stakes were no longer just personal. He had grown accustomed to the pressure—top students weren’t simply admired; they were sought after by the kingdom’s elite. 

The duchess had arranged a final banquet to mark the end of the social season and to celebrate her son’s achievements—a strategic gathering where alliances could be subtly formed and her son’s future further secured. 

Madeline always made sure her guest list included only the most important parents of Ashwood students. As she reviewed the new enrollees for the upcoming term—a privilege exclusive to her—she noticed a name she hadn’t seen in years: Viscountess Catherine Sinclair and her daughter, Elena. 

Madeline stared at the list, unsettled. Catherine was back in the capital, and her daughter would be attending Ashwood? It had been so long since she last heard anything about her. Should she send an invitation? Would Catherine accept it after all these years? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Her maid, Poppy, entered with a tray of tea, followed by Henry, eyeing the treats with interest. 

“Just what I need,” Madeline murmured, rubbing her temples. 

“Finished the guest list, Your Grace?” Poppy asked eagerly, glancing at the papers in Madeline’s hands. 

“Almost,” Madeline replied. “I’ll add a few more names, and you can have the invitations sent out. There’s much to prepare.” 

“Of course, Your Grace. Who wouldn’t want an invitation?” Poppy beamed, always keen to please. 

Madeline gave a small, tight-lipped smile in return. Catherine might not be so eager. 

As the days dwindled, Elena’s nervous anticipation for her first day at Ashwood became more apparent. Since arriving in the capital, Sebastian was the only noble she had crossed paths with—if their quiet encounters at Frowde’s Fine Books could be considered interaction. She’d learned little about his family, only that he was two years older and entering his third year at Ashwood.  

Elena had a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling within her. She felt a strange urge to make a good impression at Ashwood, yet her mother’s warning about the challenges they might face loomed heavily in her mind. Would her peers accept her? 

The weekend passed peacefully, with Catherine, focused on her embroidery, allowed the rhythmic stitching to calm her thoughts. With each loop and knot, she found solace, yet her mind remained tethered to the looming social season and the unavoidable scrutiny it would bring.  

Elena, meanwhile, delved into another foreign language book, eager to distract herself from the mounting anxiety of her upcoming debut at Ashwood Academy. 

The sound of footsteps on the garden path interrupted her thoughts. Tomas, returning from errands, approached with a small bundle of letters in hand.  

Viscount Hurbert had been periodically sending updates to his family, reassuring them of his good health and progress in stabilizing his business again.  

In her own letters, Catherine reassured him in return, detailing how smoothly things were transitioning since their move. She recounted her evenings spent at tea with their neighbor, Lady Timothy, a widow she had grown fond of during their short time in the capital. 

“Lady Sinclair, a few letters just arrived,” Tomas announced, handing them to Catherine. 

“Has Hurbert finally responded?” Catherine asked, setting aside her embroidery as Elena watched her sift through the envelopes. 

There was a letter from Hurbert, one from the academy, a note from Catherine’s parents—and a beautifully decorated invitation. 

Since the move had been spurred by their family’s strained circumstances, Catherine had been less than forthcoming about their return to the capital. She did not announce her arrival to the rest of the aristocracy and did not expect to be invited to the salons held by noble ladies, most of whom she had known only distantly in the past.  

What weighed on her most, however, was the looming day when Elena would begin at Ashwood Academy. In less than two weeks, their presence would be known, and the Sinclair family could no longer avoid the prying eyes of capital society.  

Catherine hoped to slip through unnoticed, to quietly survive the season’s social scrutiny until they could return to the relative peace of Valtara. The last thing I want is to attract attention, she thought, feeling the tension knotting in her stomach. 

“Who’s that from?” Elena asked, eyeing the unfamiliar, ornate seal. 

“I’m not sure,” Catherine murmured as she turned the envelope over, her calm exterior concealing the tumult in her mind. No one knows I’m in the capital. Who could this be? 

The invitation read: Dear Viscount and Viscountess Sinclair, you are cordially invited to Duke and Duchess Carlisle von Edmonton’s grand banquet. We wish to congratulate Lady Elena on her enrollment at Ashwood Academy. We look forward to your attendance. 

Catherine froze. Madeline. A familiar unease settled over her as her mind raced. Why would she invite us? How would she even know we’re here? Of course—she’s the duchess. She knows everything that happens in the capital. Was this some kind of trap? An opportunity to embarrass me again? 

While Catherine was lost in thought, Elena leaned over and caught a glimpse of the open invitation. 

“Mother, I didn’t know you knew the duchess,” Elena said, surprise in her voice. “Are we going to her banquet?” 

Catherine had rarely spoken about her youth in the capital, and Elena had never heard her mention Madeline. 

Without a word, Catherine crumpled the invitation in her hand, much to Elena’s shock. 

“No, we aren’t going,” Catherine said firmly, her voice tight with finality. 

“But I thought you wanted us to get along with the nobles here. Won’t ignoring the duchess’ invitation do the opposite?” Elena asked, startled by her mother’s sudden change in tone. 

Catherine’s heart raced, grappling with the ghosts of her past and the present reality of her daughter’s future. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “We’ll talk about it later, Elena,” Catherine replied, her voice taut. She rose slowly from her seat, still clutching the crumpled invitation. “I need to lie down.” 

Elena opened her mouth to argue but could only watch as her mother retreated inside, her back rigid with tension. What’s going on? she wondered, feeling a mix of confusion and concern. 

Catherine sat at the edge of her bed, the crumpled invitation clenched tightly in her hands, her knuckles pale from the strain. She stared down at it, the elegant script barely visible through the creases. 

“I won’t parade our hardship before a room full of nobles,” she muttered to herself, her voice low, but edged with bitterness. “They’ll scrutinize every detail of our appearance and circumstance. Elena doesn’t need their judgment weighing on her before she even starts at Ashwood. No, it’s better this way—out of sight, out of mind.” 

Her shoulders sagged, as if the weight of the past threatened to crush her. A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and Elena cautiously stepped inside. Without a word, she sat beside her mother on the bed, her eyes flicking from the invitation to Catherine’s tense expression. 

“I think it’s best if we keep a low profile for now,” Catherine said, her voice more composed but distant, as she smoothed out the wrinkled paper on her lap. 

Elena frowned. “But wouldn’t it be good to connect with the right people, especially since I’ll be attending Ashwood soon?” 

“It’s not the time for that,” Catherine responded softly, her eyes downcast, avoiding the question she knew was hidden in her daughter’s gaze. “Trust me.” 

Elena nodded, but uncertainty tugged at her thoughts. She trusted her mother, but something about her reluctance didn’t sit right. Why wouldn’t she want to go? Is it because of our current financial situation or did something happen between her and the duchess? She bit her lip, choosing to let the questions remain unspoken, for now. 

As silence settled between them, Catherine’s fingers trembled over the invitation, the tension in the room thick with unspoken words and buried memories. 

Now, the only thing left for Catherine to do was to politely decline—and hope their paths would never cross again.