The dining room looked the same. Sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, gilding the long oak table in gold. Fruit glistened in crystal bowls, steam rose from a delicate teapot, and each place setting had a plate loaded with bacon, eggs, and toast. It was all so warm, so lovely—so false. Elira stood in the doorway for a moment too long as she tried to school her features.

“Ah, there she is,” her father said, not looking up from the estate ledger in his hands. His voice was calm. Measured. The same voice that had once given the order to frame her for treason. She smiled. It felt like swallowing glass. “I do hope that for future mornings you come in a timelier manner. While at our estate you may have been able to set your mealtimes to your whims, but here you should be more considerate with everyone’s time.”

“Apologies,” she said smoothly, “I was enjoying the sunrise.”

He hummed acknowledgement without interest, flipping a page in the ledger as though she was nothing more than a footnote in his day.

Her mother, Lady Seraphina, glanced over the rim of her teacup. Her expression was unreadable, as always—she had practiced beauty and blankness since girlhood. With a sweetness that turned Elira’s stomach, she asked, “You look pale, darling. Are you unwell?”

“I’m well.” You weren’t so concerned the last time I saw you. Elira moved toward the table and her seat next to Vespera.

Lucien rose from his seat and circled the table to greet her, ever the golden heir. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’ll give us all heart attacks if you keep us waiting like that. I thought you’d fled the castle.” You were always better at smiling than stabbing. You just preferred to do both.

“And miss your charming wit? Never,” Elira replied easily though she cringed inside from his touch.

Seraphina laughed quietly behind her teacup, a sound as delicate and cold as falling snow.
"Still sharp-tongued, even after sleeping in. Some things never change."

Father gave a slight, disapproving click of his tongue, muttering, “Idle mornings breed idle minds.”

Elira took her seat and folded her napkin with care, watching them all from behind her lashes. Only Vespera, seated beside her, seemed untouched by the game. She wore a pale pink gown, her curls tied with ribbon, her blue eyes dreamy and distant as she stirred honey into her tea.

“I had the strangest dream last night,” Vespera said suddenly looking up to Elira. “You were standing in the garden in the snow, Elira. You were crying.”

Elira’s hand froze for a second. “Was I?”

“You never cry.” Vespera stated, though her eyes were searching.

Elira forced a laugh. “Then I suppose it must’ve been a dream. If I were to cry, I don’t think I’d pick such a place as a snowy garden. It sounds rather cold and uncomfortable.”

Vespera tilted her head, frowning. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Elira hesitated. In her final moments, Vespera had been the only one to weep but she also never lifted a hand to stop it. Plus, the conversation had caught the attention of the others who watched attentively.

“I’m fine,” Elira said but she made a note to keep watching Vespera. While she yearned for revenge, she didn’t want to catch the innocent in the crossfire if she could avoid it. Right now, she was simply a fourteen-year-old girl, worried from a bad dream. It was possible that she had been involved but more likely that, if she was, it would be later in time.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, smirking as he reached for a slice of bread. “You’ve grown bold at the estate. A few more weeks in the capital, and you’ll have your softness back.” His voice held a lazy, almost mocking affection, the kind that said he expected her to play along, to laugh and lower her eyes.

“I’ll be careful not to dull myself too much,” Elira replied sweetly, cutting a small piece of fruit with dainty precision.

Seraphina set her teacup down with a faint clink, her polished nails tapping once against the porcelain. “Careful, darling. In this city, the truly sharp are often the first to bleed.”

The words slipped out so smoothly that for a moment, it could almost be mistaken for motherly advice. But Elira caught the glint in her mother’s eyes—the warning behind the elegance.

“Of course, mother. I was only teasing Lucien. I missed the banter while I was away,” Elira said, smiling.

Tharian finally closed the ledger with a deliberate snap and set it aside. His cold gaze settled on Elira as if assessing a tool for flaws. “Good. You’re learning,” he said, approval laced with something harsher beneath it—ownership. “Remember, Elira. The court is not a place for sentimentality or weakness. If you wish to be of use, you must master both your tongue and your heart. That includes when you are speaking with your brother. He will be the Duke one day.”

“I understand.” Her voice was soft, obedient, and even. Inside, she imagined slamming the ledger over his head.

Vespera shifted in her seat, looking as if she might say something else, but a slight shake of Elira’s head stopped her. Not here. Not yet.

“Then let us hope your understanding isn’t as fleeting as your punctuality,” Tharian said, his voice clipped as he shifted in his chair. “I expect better tomorrow.”

With that, he lifted his fork and commanded silence with just a glance. Seraphina, following his lead, began to eat her own breakfast with the grace of a queen at court.

Lucien winked at her as he tilted his chair on its back legs, clearly unbothered by the undercurrents of menace at the table. “Don't disappoint us, little rose.” He mouthed to her before shoveling food into his mouth like he was racing time itself.

Only Vespera remained staring at her, her fingers nervously twisting the napkin in her lap. She looked as though she desperately wanted to continue the conversation but after a look toward their father, Vespera turned to her food with a sigh. Breakfast was a quiet affair from there, though Vespera kept sneaking worried glances her way. Elira let out a sigh of relief when she was finally permitted to go back to her room. The door shut behind her with a soft click. She waited for a beat, then another. Listening. No footsteps. No spying.

She crossed the room in quick, silent strides, dropping to her knees before the writing desk. With practiced fingers, she tugged open the bottom drawer, sweeping aside the few meaningless items that lay within. Her hand found the concealed latch at the back, pressing it firmly until the false bottom popped free with a soft click. Lifting it away, she stared down into the hollowed space she hadn’t seen in years—her secret place.

Neatly tucked inside: a stack of crisp, unused parchment, a half-full vial of ink, and a slender dagger. The dagger brought a wry smile to her lips. She remembered it clearly—how Lucien had once strutted through the halls with it, boasting it had been a gift from their father, a symbol of trust and favor. He had waved it carelessly, slicing open books and scratching furniture without a second thought. She had stolen it the night he nicked the ear of a kitchen boy for not bowing low enough, slipping it from its sheath while he slept, and hiding it where no one would think to look. Not even him.

Her gaze shifted to the parchment and ink, small things, but precious in their own way. Her father had always insisted that idle hands bred rebellion in daughters but forbidding her access to writing materials unless under strict supervision. Ideas, after all, were dangerous when left to bloom unchecked. So, she had tucked these away too, dreaming of the freedom to write her own thoughts—plans, hopes, even petty grievances—instead of smiling and nodding on command.

Elira reached into the hollow and ran her fingers lightly over the objects, the past and present twining together. What once had been hidden in fear would now serve a very different purpose.

Pulling the parchment and ink out, she sat at the desk. She unscrewed the inkwell and began to write—not a letter or not a journal as the parchment had been originally for but a map. Not of land but of people and their sins.

Wyncrest House – Observations and New Impressions

Father: Ruthless. Controlled. Will never risk exposure. Primary architect of the plot.

• Always meets privately with Garran after council meetings.
• Keeps two ledgers: one for court, one locked in his study.
• Biggest weakness – His conviction that he’s in control.

Mother: Image-obsessed. Cold. Uses affection as manipulation.

• Controls staff loyalties. Rewards silence.
• Had secret correspondence with House Lenaire – Must find out what is actually in those letters this time.
• Biggest weakness - Obsession with appearances and control

Lucien: Charmer. Opportunist. Knew everything. Lied without blinking.

• Was the one who planted the evidence.
• Has a mistress in the city who may know more.
• Biggest weakness – Intelligence and vanity.

Uncle Garran: Fixer. Enforcer. Dangerous. Keeps family secrets buried—literally.

• Has ties to the Black Hand (covert guild). Track movements.
• Biggest weakness - ???

Vespera: Unknown. Seems innocent but was present. Never spoke against them.

• Cried at the execution. Guilt? Regret?
• Watch for inconsistencies.
• Biggest weakness – Naivety

She tapped the pen against her chin. What she needed was leverage, proof, and time. They had turned her into a sacrifice once. She would become their reckoning now. She looked out the window, where the garden lay quiet beneath the morning sun. A place she once played, wept, laughed. She would not laugh the same light, joyous laugh again until they burned but what did she need to do first to make that happen? She pulled a fresh piece of parchment to her and wrote:

·         Secure Loyal Allies: Quietly build a circle of servants and contacts who I can trust.

·         Relearn the Landscape: Refresh my memory of the current political alliances, noble rivalries, and power players in court and beyond.

·         Gather Information: Cannot be done alone. Contact a good guild that is willing to take risks. Possibly Dragon Fire?

·         Strengthen Public Image: Reforge myself into a charming, clever individual. Win over society to preemptively build doubt. Volunteer time for commoner spaces to gain traction with the majority population. Preemptively cast doubt.

·         Control Resources: Find independent streams of money and influence I could access without tipping off the family. Will need more thought.

·         Exploit Weaknesses: Watch for cracks in the family's masks — vanity, pride, fear — and take note of every flaw which could one day be used.

·         Forge Strategic Alliances: Target individuals like Caius Valeir, those disillusioned or powerful enough to aid in future revenge. Will need to calculate who is most important to win first.

·         Secure Evidence: Quietly collect proof of my family's crimes — documents, letters, whispers — something undeniable I could wield.

·         Stay Invisible: Work carefully. Patiently. Never too bold, never too weak. Let them think they have already won.

She recapped her ink and reread her notes. This will do for now. She would need more information if she wanted to proceed but she felt emotionally drained from the day already. Elira didn’t want to strain herself worrying about whether someone would side with her right now. She needed to remember what she was doing this for. She could never allow herself to forget what fate awaited her if she allowed it to happen.

Bury the past in silence,
Let vengeance rise in bloom.