The warmth of the bath seeped deep into my bones, dulling the faint ache in my muscles. The aroma of the herbs—minty, with hints of lemon and something sharp like pine—mixed with the scent of the tea still rising from her cup.

I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, she mused, sipping her broth. The flavor was light, comforting—a blend of herbs and root vegetables. But doubt still creeps in.

My eyes softened as I stared at the curling steam. My dad said I am his child... If he accepts this... and Rena accepts this... and deep down, I know I do too. I inhaled slowly, closing my eyes. I just wish doubt would leave me be.

From across the room, I could hear Mary quietly moving about—pulling open drawers, setting out a soft set of clothes on the chair, humming faintly under her breath. The sound grounded me.

I reached for another piece of fruit and let it rest against my lips, gazing at the mist swirling above the hot stones. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to simply exist—to feel warmth, safety, and peace, even if my mind still whispered questions I wasn't ready to face.

I finished the last of my broth, letting the warmth linger on my tongue before setting the empty bowl back onto the floating tray. The tea had gone lukewarm, but she still lifted it for one last sip—it was oddly grounding, that herbal bitterness mixed with honey.

“Mary,” she began quietly, eyes fixed on the shifting ripples in the water, “if you were in my position… would you question it?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment, soft but heavy. I could see Mary pause in her reflection on the water’s surface. The older woman’s hands stilled over the wardrobe, her expression turning thoughtful—grim even.

“Honestly?” Mary said at last, turning to face her. “If this were any other noble house…” She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “I would. Nobility’s kindness toward the poor often comes with… attachments. None of them are good.” Her tone was steady but edged with something lived—something that came from experience.

I blinked, watching her quietly.

Mary’s face softened as she lifted two gowns from the wardrobe—one a thin silk that shimmered faintly, the other a soft wool that looked warm and comforting. “But this house,” she continued, “more so your father, the Duke—I trust.” Her gaze held firm as she looked at me . “He’s not like most.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Then I smiled faintly, my eyes warm but tired. “Thank you, Mary. Truthfully.”

Mary’s expression brightened just a little. “It’s my pleasure, princess,” she said gently, draping both gowns over her arm and moving toward the vanity. “Now, which one will it be tonight—silk or wool?”

Mary’s laughter rang softly through the steam, warm and bright. “Wool it is,” she said cheerfully, setting the purple-and-green gown neatly on a nearby chair before folding the silk one back into the wardrobe.

“I know your answer would be no,” she teased as she turned back, “but would you care for my help? To wash? Change?”

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. “No, thank you. I’m not sure if I should even be comfortable with being waited on hand and foot.”

Mary chuckled at that, eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s understandable,” she said softly. “Many who come from simpler lives feel the same. But I, as many others, will do any and everything our master wishes of us.” She paused, the smile still on her lips but her eyes distant for a heartbeat, softening with something like memory. “…All I—” she hesitated, correcting herself, “all we ask is that you allow us to do our job. To serve you.”

I took the towel from her hands, the fabric plush and warm against my palms. “You’re free to do as you want, Mary,” I said, sincerity touching my tone as she stepped out of the bath. “Just promise you’ll also rest when you can.”

I do not want mary to stress herself out worrying or being forced to serve me. But ill let her do her job, her and everyone else.

Mary blinked, a little startled, then smiled again—this time gentler, touched. “You’re kind, princess. I’ll try.”

I grinned faintly as I wrapped myself in the towel. “Try harder than I do, at least,” I joked, earning another soft laugh from Mary. 

I slipped into the wool nightgown, its soft fabric brushing against my skin like a warm hug. The purple and green threads shimmered faintly in the lamplight—subtle but elegant. Mary fastened the ribbon tie at my shoulder before stepping back with a nod of approval.

“Perfect,” she said proudly. “You look far less pale than earlier.”

How pale did i look? Not important.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” I murmured, brushing my damp hair behind my ears as I padded toward the door. The faint hum of warmth still lingered from my bath, making the chill of the hall air bite just a little sharper.

I had barely reached for the handle when a knock sounded—firm but familiar.

Now who’s coming to see me this early in the morning after a nice bath with a sauna? I might be using that from now on.

Mary blinked, opening the door. “My lord,” she greeted, bowing slightly.

My father stood there, tall as ever, his cloak draped over one shoulder. Behind him were two servants carrying polished metal lamps and baskets filled with smooth, rune-marked stones that faintly pulsed with red-orange light.

“Evening, Rena,” my dad greeted with a small, reassuring smile. “I thought it best to make your balcony a bit more… comfortable at night or when the weather’s chilly”

I tilted my head, amused and touched. “Magic heating lamps and stones? You didn’t have to go that far, Dad.” Even though we both know you were.. 

“I disagree,” he said simply, stepping aside as the servants entered and began arranging the items. “You’ve been ill, and I’d rather not have you freezing yourself just to enjoy the night air.”

The servants worked quietly with a tornado's pace, setting the lamps on bronze stands and spreading the warm stones in a decorative line along the balcony’s edge. Soon, the cold marble beneath my bare feet softened with gentle, radiating heat.

I turned toward him, a faint smile playing on my lips. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He met my eyes, warmth flickering behind the usual composure. “Your mother used to love watching the stars this time of year. Thought you might as well.”

my chest tightened for a moment, but i  smiled anyway. “Then I’ll do her proud.”

dad stepped further onto the balcony, the early light spilling across the freshly arranged space. “The heated stone tiles and lamps are touch and voice activated,” he explained, gesturing toward the glowing runes etched along the edges of the floor. He bent slightly, pressing his palm flat against one of the tiles—immediately, a soft hum filled the air as gentle warmth radiated upward.

“See? If you ever want it cooler or warmer, just speak to it. The enchantment will adjust to your comfort.”

I crouched down beside him, running my fingers along the faintly glowing markings. “This is… impressive,” I admitted, feeling the warmth spread through my fingertips.

My dad smiled faintly. “That’s not all.” He stepped toward one of the chairs, brushing his hand along the armrest. The faint glow of runes shimmered beneath the surface, and he gestured for her to sit. “The chairs can be lightly heated as well—on command.”

I sank into the seat, eyes widening slightly at the steady heat beneath me. “It feels… perfect.”

“I had them enchanted last night,” he said simply, tone carrying that quiet pride of someone who enjoyed surprising me. “You’re still recovering. I want you to be comfortable while you rest or work out here.”

Behind us, Mary bowed politely. “My lord. Princess. I’ll take my leave now. I must finish my other tasks and prepare your lunch, Princess. Please ring if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Mary,” I said softly.

Mary smiled brightly before disappearing through the doorway, her soft footsteps fading down the hall.

The room grew quiet again, the sound of the wind brushing against the balcony railings. Dad took the seat beside me, stretching his legs out as the warmth from the enchanted tiles balanced the crisp morning air. The world around them felt peaceful—the low hum of magic, the faint rustle of leaves in the courtyard below, the lazy swirl of light through the trees. I drew my blanket closer and exhaled, my body easing into comfort.

“Not bad for a morning project,” my dad said with a small smirk.

“Not bad at all,” I replied, smiling softly as the warmth settled into my bones.

I reached across the table and picked up the small wooden fox still sitting where I’d left it yesterday. The morning light shimmered against its smooth surface, highlighting the faint grain lines that ran through its three tails. I turned it over carefully in my hands, lifting it toward the light.

“Mom taught me how to build… craft,” I murmured, tracing my thumb over the curve of one tail, remembering the gentle way she used to guide my hands.

Dad’s expression softened. “And she too was outstanding at that. Those who can create—like you, like her—are the ones who built the mana tools and items we rely on every day.” He smiled, a trace of pride shining in his eyes. “I’m sure she taught you everything she knew.”

“Yes, she did…” I replied, my voice lighter now, warmed by the memory. “Though the things we built didn’t exactly work because we didn’t have mana.”

A soft laugh escaped me, one that felt equal parts proud and wistful.

He chuckled quietly, the sound deep and genuine. “I can only imagine the two of you surrounded by half-finished creations. She always had a way of losing track of time when she worked.”

“She did,” I said, smiling as the memories unfurled. “Hours would pass before she even realized she hadn’t eaten. I’d sit and carve beside her until my hands hurt.”

Dad leaned back, watching me fondly as I set the fox down on the table again. The morning light caught the little sculpture perfectly, its features glowing in soft gold.

“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly. “She would’ve been proud.”

For a moment, silence filled the balcony—gentle, familiar, and comforting.

I reached for the small jar of lavender paint, twisting the lid open as the soft scent of herbs and pigment filled the air. Dipping my brush, I leaned forward and carefully filled in the fox’s eyes—two shimmering pools of pale violet, reflective and bright.

Dad's voice came low, steady but edged with something heavier. “I know what your mother did… is what she believed to be right,” he said, his gaze distant as though he were seeing a different time entirely. “I… however, do not agree with any of this. And it’s alright that you feel the same.”