The west courtyard was a pocket universe of half-wild, half-cultivated greenery—an ecosystem as stubborn and unpredictable as the royal family that maintained it. Sunlight didn’t so much pierce the air as get diffused through layers of enchanted rose trellis, making everything look like it had been painted underwater.

Atlas was already there, sprawled on the backless bench like a tiger lounging after a kill, boots muddy and one ankle propped on the balustrade. His hair, usually a work of martial precision, was wind-blown and stubbornly untamed. He looked more like a bandit than a prince, which probably suited him fine.

Lucas arrived next, the tails of his frock coat fluttering, a paper cone of candied almonds in one hand. “If you’re going to deface public property, at least wipe your boots first,” he called, not even glancing at Atlas before vaulting the bench and landing in a lazy sprawl beside him.

“Etiquette tips from you?” Atlas didn’t bother to look up. “Last week, you got mustard on the High Chancellor’s bald spot.”

“Chancellor should’ve ducked,” Lucas responded, crunching an almond with savage satisfaction. “Besides, he hates the new tariffs.” He tipped the cone toward Theodor, who entered last, glancing nervously over his shoulder as if expecting Felix to materialize from the roses.

“We’re early,” Theodor said, his voice soft as always. “Jasper’s not here yet.” He pointed out with a frown.

“Jasper’s always late,” Atlas said.

“Five crowns says he’s with a girl. Ten crowns if it’s the Chancellor’s daughter again.” Lucas grinned, flicking a pebble off the bench.

Theodor flushed red, but said nothing.

The brothers let the moment hang, the only sound the trickle of water from the enchanted fountain and the faint, ever-present hum of magical wards.

“So,” Lucas said, drawing out the word. “She’s really doing it. Our little sister. Queen-in-waiting, shackle and all.” He dramatically waved his hands in the air.

Atlas smirked. “She’ll break her ankle again before they even finish the vows, or set the chapel on fire. Zarek’s going to regret every promise by the first snow.” He pronounced it with relish, like a prophecy.

Theodor glanced at Atlas, eyes anxious. “She’s not—she’s not going to back out, is she?” He stuttered.

Atlas rolled his eyes. “The ring’s stuck, Theo. Even Clara can’t un-choose destiny, no matter how much she pouts.” He explained and shot a look towards Theo.

Lucas, ever the performer, mimed Clara’s signature scowl, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “Remember last year’s Harvest Ball? She punted a pumpkin through the bishop’s stained glass.” He recalled with a wide grin.

“And Father blamed me,” Atlas said. “Because, quote, ‘only a son of mine would find a pumpkin launch an appropriate use of royal resources.’” He barked a laugh.

“Because you built the catapult,” Theodor said, a hint of dry wit peeking through.

Atlas’s smile broadened, pride mixing with annoyance. “That’s called initiative, Theo. If more of the court had it, maybe the empire wouldn’t be one bad winter away from collapse.” He turned to Lucas. “Besides, you’re the one who bet Clara she couldn’t hit the nave from the terrace.”

“I believe in supporting my siblings’ ambitions. Also, it was hilarious.” Lucas shrugged, unbothered.

Jasper finally appeared, hair immaculate, smile composed, and shoes unsmudged. He moved with the ease of someone who could make an entrance in a ballroom or a battlefield and look equally at home. “Sorry to keep everyone waiting,” he said. “Ambassador from Avare wanted to discuss the seating arrangements for the wedding. Their entire delegation is afraid of being poisoned.” He sat on the edge of the bench, careful not to wrinkle his coat.

“If the Avare delegation dies, I’ll buy drinks for the palace,” Atlas grunted.

Jasper ignored him, eyes flicking between his brothers. “You’re talking about Clara.” He said, narrowing his eyes.

“We’re talking about how she’s likely to destroy the palace before the honeymoon,” Lucas said, waving a candied almond for emphasis.

“You three are savages. You know she’s taking this better than any of us expected.” Jasper gave a half-smile.

“She’s probably saving it for a grand finale,” Atlas said, voice low as he picked some dirt from his fingernails.

Theodor, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, blurted, “Is anyone else worried about—about what happens after? About the trip to the north?” He looked at the others, eyes wide. “Some of the books say it’s haunted. Whole towns vanish, and sometimes the snow sings. Zarek’s family—” He faltered, aware he sounded childish.

“I heard the snow eats people, but only the ones who snore.” Lucas snickered. Theodor’s eyes widened, and he shuddered.

Jasper held up a hand. “The Wolf of the North may be terrifying, but he’s kept the borders secure for a decade. That’s more than can be said for most of the court.” He paused, then added, “Anyway, Father wouldn’t send you up there if he thought you’d be eaten.” He explained to try to put Theodor at ease.

“I hope you’re right. But if the rumors are true, and the Starforge bloodline is as cursed as people say, Clara’s in for a hell of a winter.” Atlas shot Jasper a withering look.

“Don’t worry, Atlas,” Lucas said, popping another almond. “You’ll be there to rescue her. I’ve seen your swordsmanship; the ice goblins don’t stand a chance.” He joked lightly.

Atlas’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to rescue anyone. Clara can handle herself. If anything, Zarek should be scared of her.” He claimed, his lips twitching as if trying not to smirk.

“You’re all missing the point. We should be proud of her. She’s growing up.” Jasper shook his head, smiling.

There was a long, awkward pause.

“Gross,” said Lucas.

“I just hope she’ll be okay. The old stories say the north changes people.” Theodor exhaled, relief mixing with worry.

“If the north doesn’t kill you, nothing will. Besides, Mother says it builds character.” Atlas punched Lucas lightly on the shoulder.

“Mother also said I’d grow out of my allergies,” Theodor grumbled.

“Mother was wrong,” Atlas conceded, “but she’s never wrong about Clara.” He said with a lower tone.

The brothers lapsed into silence, each thinking of the coming months and what they might bring. The chimes picked up in the wind, a frantic clatter. In the east, storm clouds were gathering—real ones, for once, not metaphorical.

Celia found the courtyard exactly as she’d hoped: the brothers parked in their usual formation, three-quarters camaraderie and one-quarter competitive stand-off. She paused at the ivy-framed threshold, surveying the group. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of wet moss and the spicy undertone of rose stems recently pruned. She made her entrance quietly, gliding to the foot of the fountain.

“Come to gloat?” Atlas said, not turning his head. “Or to tell us we’re unfit to represent the family name in the north?” He sounded bored, but the tension in his shoulders told another story.

“Oh, Atlas,” Celia purred, folding herself onto the edge of the mossy fountain. “I would never. The north deserves the very best of the royal crop, which is to say—” Her tone sarcastic as she cast an amused glance at Theodor “—the ones least likely to freeze to death or get eaten by dire wolves.” She beamed at Theo, whose face paled half a shade.

“Atlas will challenge the first blizzard to a duel and lose on purpose for the drama,” Lucas said with a grin. Atlas rolled his eyes at the comment, then flicked a pebble at Lucas’s head.

Theodor smiled tightly. “Statistically, only one in a hundred northern expeditions ends in supernatural disaster. The other ninety-nine are famine, frostbite, or political intrigue.” He commented with furrowed brows.

“Did you prepare a report?” Celia asked, cocking her head. Her tone was sweet, but it seemed to make Theodor tense. He blinked, then shook his head. He fell silent and looked down at the cobblestone.

Celia’s gaze fixed on Jasper, all sunlight and teeth. “Speaking of which, I hear your first assignment is cleaning up after Adrian Dawnweaver’s tantrum.” She let the words hang, waiting for the ripple.

Jasper didn’t flinch. “Better a tantrum than an assassination attempt,” he replied. “The court’s whispering that Adrian’s already plotting revenge for Clara’s rejection.” He sighed.

“Maybe he should have tried harder,” Celia said. “Or had better hair.” She flicked a finger through her own perfect curls.

Lucas fake-shuddered. “Adrian’s only hope now is a wig, or to seduce Clara after she returns from the north. Assuming there’s anything left of her once Zarek’s done.” He threw a look at Atlas, who scowled at the implication.

Celia turned contemplative, her gaze drifting over the glowing chimes and the dew-speckled petals of the climbing roses. “Honestly, I thought you’d put up more of a fight, Atlas. Clara getting married before you is not the natural order.” Her tone was teasing, but the point was sharp.

“I have better things to do than marry for politics. Let Zarek have his hands full; I’ll be here when it all burns down.” Atlas shrugged, all forced bravado.

“Which is exactly what Mother’s betting on,” Lucas added, licking almond dust from his fingers. “She thinks you’ll come home as a conquering hero.” He said with a smirk.

“I hate to disappoint,” Atlas said, “but I don’t think any conquering will occur.”

Theodor finally spoke, voice tentative. “Will you be joining us up north, Celia? You and Clara have always—” He trailed off, not wanting to sound sentimental. He flinched as Celia looked at him.

Celia blinked, as if the idea surprised her. “I’ll have my hands full here. Mother’s been hinting at a new round of etiquette lessons for the Meridian delegation.” She explained.

“Is that all?” Jasper asked, a new edge in his voice. “I expected you’d want to be close to Clara. She’ll need support. The north can be… isolating.” He added, giving Celia a questioning look.

Celia’s smile grew razor-thin. “I have every faith in her. She’ll be fine,” She rose, smoothing her skirt with deliberate care. “And I truly do have better things to do.”

Atlas eyed Celia, the look not quite suspicion but something adjacent. “You’ve changed, Celia,” he said, almost admiring.

Celia laughed, the sound as bright as the clinking chimes. “That’s because you stopped being fun to torment, Atlas. Or maybe you finally built up a resistance.” She let the jab hang, then flicked her gaze to Theodor, who was staring at the moss on his shoes.

She drifted toward the archway, then paused, silhouetted by the diffused sunlight. “Good luck, boys. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Her tone implied the list was very short.

Lucas called after her: “If you fall into a lake, try to make it look like an accident. For the sake of the family reputation.”

Celia lifted a hand in silent farewell, then vanished through the ivy-curtained gap, leaving only a faint scent of her perfume and the memory of her laughter.

The four brothers sat, momentarily thrown off their axis.

“Did that feel like a warning to anyone else?” Atlas asked, only half joking. Jasper was silent as he looked towards the archway.

“Absolutely,” Lucas replied. “But I can’t decide if it’s more likely she’ll poison us or just embarrass us in a public square.”

“She’ll be fine. She always is.” Theodor drew a deep breath, the tension draining from his posture.

Atlas nodded, but the words hung in the rose-scented air long after the chimes faded.

For a while, none of them spoke, each lost in their calculations—about the north, about Clara, about what waited for them on the other side of winter. Eventually, Lucas stood and stretched. “I’m going to nap before the next disaster,” he announced and sauntered off, leaving a trail of almond crumbs.

“I have to prepare some things before my trip east,” Jasper said as he turned to leave as well.

Atlas and Theodor stayed a bit longer, watching the slow march of clouds across the sky, each considering the future in their way.