That made me laugh — a small, genuine one that carried into the morning air. “So I don’t get it from her, then,” I said proudly, straightening in my chair.

“ from me,” he countered, smiling into his tea. “We Nowrks are creatures of excess, it seems.”

Sabatian made a quiet sound that might have been a chuckle, quickly masked by a respectful cough.

I rolled my eyes, hiding my own grin. “Then I’m simply keeping up family tradition.”

Dad raised his cup in mock salute. “That you are, Rena. That you are.”

I leaned back in my chair, resting my elbows on the armrests as the warmth from the tiles crept up through my feet. My eyes drifted toward the fox on the table again, its paint still glistening faintly in the morning light. “You know,” I began softly, “Mom and I used to make things like this all the time when I was little.”

Dad looked up, curious. “You did?”

“Mm-hm,” I nodded, smiling at the memory. “We didn’t have any fancy tools or gems or mana stones — just whatever we could find in the woods. Little pieces of bark, flat stones, even flowers.” I picked up the fox again, turning it over in my hands. “We’d make tiny statues, bracelets, fake jewelry… sometimes we’d carve symbols into them, pretending we were enchanting them with spells.”

Dad’s smile deepened, his expression soft with nostalgia even though he hadn’t been there. “That sounds exactly like something your mother would do.”

“Yeah,” I said with a laugh. “We’d have our little pretend battles, too. My weapon of choice was a stick — but not just any stick, mind you. It was my staff.”

Sabatian arched an eyebrow but stayed respectfully silent, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

I continued, grinning as the memory unfolded. “I’d wave it around like I was casting powerful water magic, pretending to summon barriers made from lily petals and puddle water. Mom would counter with these huge ‘earth spheres’ made from mud and dirt. We’d fling them at each other, yelling out spells that didn’t make sense.”

Dad laughed then, the kind of laugh that came from deep in the chest. “Mud and puddles — fierce combatants indeed.”

“Oh, she always won,” I said, smirking. “Her ‘earth magic’ was way stronger than my ‘water barriers.’ Though I think she cheated.”

She also said that we were practicing real spells used for magic items. Even the way we ‘pretend’ to do the formulas to cast the spells.

“She probably did,” he said knowingly. “Your mother was very competitive.”

“Tell me about it,” I giggled, setting the fox down gently. “By the end of it, we’d both be covered in dirt and laughing so hard we could barely breathe.”

Dad’s eyes softened. “That sounds… beautiful. I’m glad you had that with her.”

I nodded quietly, a warm ache settling in my chest. “Yeah. Me too.”

Dad leaned back in his chair, resting his teacup in his palm as his eyes drifted somewhere far beyond the balcony. The morning light caught in his gaze, softening the usually composed sharpness in his features.

“You know,” he began, a faint smile forming, “your story reminds me of a time your mother and I were on holiday. We had gone to the western provinces, near the cliffs by the Cherry Flower Forest.”

I perked up a little, folding my legs under me. “Cherry Flower Forest?”

That's sounds beautiful. I wonder if it looks like the cherry blossom trees in the real world?

He nodded. “It’s a quiet, breathtaking place—blanketed in pink blooms for miles when the season’s right. She said she wanted to see the sunrise through the petals… but of course, that wasn’t her only reason for going.” His smile widened, amused at the thought. “Your mother had signed herself up for a local crafting competition. The prize was nothing grand—just a small topaz—but she was determined to win it.”

I chuckled softly. “Sounds like her.”

“Oh, very much so,” he said, shaking his head. “Her competitors were mostly young teenage amateurs, still learning to control their mana flow through their tools. But your mother—she wasn’t just skilled. She had a way of turning simple materials into something alive.”

He paused, his voice lowering with admiration. “She made this piece… a miniature sculpture of the Cherry Flower Forest itself. But not out of marble or jade like the others—she used flint. Rough, imperfect, difficult to shape. Everyone thought she’d lost her mind.”

Sabatian, quietly listening near the doorway, tilted his head slightly in interest.

Dad continued, his tone soft but full of pride. “When the judges came around, she lit a small flame beneath it. The entire sculpture shimmered, the flint veins glowing like molten glass. And in that moment, it looked as if the forest was alive—its blossoms kissed by firelight, burning softly like the last light of dusk.”

Of course she's okay with beating some amateur kids with her skills. 

I blinked, picturing it—the cherry blossoms glimmering in shades of gold and rose, fire trapped inside stone. “That sounds… beautiful.”

“It was,” he said simply, eyes distant. “Compared to the vases and statues the nobles submitted, hers wasn’t grand. It didn’t look expensive. But it felt real. You could almost hear the wind moving through those glowing trees.”

I smiled faintly. “She really won with heart, didn’t she?”

Heart, creativity, talent.

He laughed under his breath. “Oh, she won with everything she had. Walked away with that topaz held high like it was a royal crown. I don’t think she ever told you, but she carved a ring from it later.”

My brows lifted. “She did?”

He nodded, lips curving into a wistful smile. “Said she’d give it to her child one day.”

She never said anything about leaving behind rings and such for me. I wonder if he kept it, what it appears like.

For a long moment, the balcony was quiet—only the soft hum of magic lamps and the rustle of wind against the curtains filling the silence.  I set my spoon down, the warmth of the meal still lingering as I looked up at him. “Do you… still have that ring?” I asked softly, my curiosity laced with something deeper—an ache that tugged at the edges of my chest.

His expression shifted, a shadow crossing the warmth in his eyes. He took a slow breath, gaze drifting toward the horizon where the morning mist met the faint shimmer of light. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “It was stolen… not long after she made it.”

My lips parted slightly. “Stolen?”

He nodded once, calm but faintly sorrowful. “A thief had broken into the manor one night. Took several things—jewels, coins, trinkets of value. But when your mother realized the ring was gone, she only laughed. Said it was fine.”

“She laughed?” I repeated, tilting my head.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. She said, ‘If the ring was meant for our child, then no thief can truly steal it. It’ll find its way to them when it’s ready.’ I thought it was nonsense at the time.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “But that was her way. Always speaking in riddles that somehow found their meaning later.”

I found myself tracing the carved tail of my little fox again, thumb brushing over the smooth paint. “Maybe she was right,” I whispered. “Maybe it will.”

I doubt that ring coming back. 

He looked at me then, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if the air itself softened. “If anyone could make a ring find its rightful owner,” he said, voice low and certain, “it would be her.”

The two of us sat in silence for a while after that, the sound of the wind weaving through the balcony’s curtains like a lullaby—carrying with it the faint scent of cherry blossoms that weren’t really there. Sabatian’s voice carried softly through the lazy hum of the warm morning air as he cleared the table. “The Cherry Flower Forest got its name because all the blooms there are shaped like cherries,” he said conversationally, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. “And they taste like them too, though a bit tart.”

That's tempting. I wonder if they have a dessert made out of those flowers? I would love to visit that place to see what it's like. To sample the food there.

I rested my cheek in my palm, eyelids heavy, watching the way sunlight painted faint gold across the table. His words blended gently with the faint sound of wind brushing the balcony curtains and the distant chirp of morning birds.

“That sounds… nice,” I murmured, my voice fading into a tired whisper. My head tipped slightly to the side as I let my gaze blur over the carved fox resting by my plate. “One day… let’s visit there…”

My words trailed off into a faint hum as sleep finally tugged me under.

Sabatian paused mid-step, looking to the duke, who had gone still at the sight of me dozing. My father only smiled faintly, a rare softness melting the usual weight in his eyes. “Let her rest,” he said quietly.

Sabatian nodded, lowering his voice. “Of course, my lord.”

The gentle warmth of the heated stones, the lingering scent of herbs, and the murmur of their fading voices lulled me deeper into sleep. Somewhere between their words and the soft rustle of the morning breeze, I dreamed faintly of a forest of glowing cherry flowers—petals drifting like starlight, and laughter I could almost remember.  Mary hummed softly as she moved through the large walk-in closet, the sound of rustling fabric and faint jingling from jeweled clasps filling the quiet afternoon air. “How was your rest, Princess?” she asked over her shoulder, her tone warm but professional.

“Nice,” I replied, stretching my arms above my head. My body felt lighter—still a touch tired, but no longer weighed down by fever. I glanced down at my soft nightgown, then toward the balcony where sunlight streamed in golden and low. “I want to explore the estate a bit,” I added, the idea forming as a spark of restlessness fluttered inside me.

Mary paused, tilting her head thoughtfully before placing a finger on her cheek in mock contemplation. “Let’s get you a change of clothes for a light walk around,” she said brightly, moving toward a section of the closet lined with daywear.

I followed, taking a seat on one of the couches in the center—its pale cushions giving slightly under me as I watched her browse through the racks. The closet smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish, and sunlight filtered through the small glass panels above, making the silks shimmer like colored water.

Mary pulled out a few options—one a soft ivory dress with lace embroidery, another a pale blue walking gown trimmed with gold. She turned, both draped over her arms, her smile warm and teasing. “Something graceful, or something practical?” she asked. My eyes widened. The space seemed endless—rows of coats, pants, dresses, and shorts, each section meticulously labeled by season and theme. Shelves gleamed with shoes, from dainty slippers to sturdy boots, and a separate glass case displayed sparkling jewels, neatly arranged like tiny constellations.

“I do not need anything fancy for a stroll,” I said, giggling as I took it all in. “How about something simple and warm?”

Mary chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Of course, princess. Simple can still be elegant.”

I muttered under my breath, barely able to contain my awe, “I have never had my own walk-in store…”

Mary looked around, her eyes twinkling, and nodded in agreement. “Yes… this would put many boutiques to shame.”

She reached for a soft, cozy dress and held it out for me. “Something like this, perhaps? Comfortable, yet fitting for the estate.” 

I wandered through the closet, my fingers brushing over fabrics that felt like dreams. Mary picked out a long-sleeved dress in soft cream and muted green, the texture like the finest cashmere. I held it against myself and smiled. “This… feels perfect.”

This is warm enough to not get any complaints from Dad about my fever and the cold. I won't have to hear him say I can't venture around because he's concerned about me being chilly.

Next, I scanned the shelves for something for my feet. Mary lifted a pair of soft, comfortable house shoes that could easily be worn outdoors. Sliding them on, I felt the gentle cushion hug my feet, perfect for a stroll without worrying about the estate’s gravel paths.

“Comfy enough for walking?” Mary asked, her tone playful.

“Absolutely,” I replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

Finally, Mary draped a light shawl over my shoulders, its warmth and softness a gentle comfort against the crisp air waiting outside. I twirled once, watching the cream and green swirl together, and giggled.

“Ready?” Mary asked, holding the closet door open.

I nodded, excitement bubbling inside me. “Let’s explore.”

Mary led me out of the closet, her arm lightly brushing mine as we walked through the grand hallway. The estate seemed even larger than I had imagined. She began the tour, guiding me first to the kitchen.

The space was bustling with activity—chefs chopping, stirring, and plating dishes with practiced precision. I paused, taking in the warmth and the aroma of fresh bread and simmering sauces.

I stepped forward and smiled. “Thank you all… for these mouth-watering meals,” I said sincerely. The staff paused for a moment, then bowed deeply, a chorus of polite greetings echoing through the room.

They seem a bit spooked, like they weren't expecting me to show up down here. I still appreciate the hard work they provide. All the staff work hard to keep this place clean and functional.

Mary’s smile was proud as she whispered, “They are thrilled to have you here, princess.”

From there, we wandered into the library, where floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowed with books of every size. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air. I ran my fingers along the spines, marveling at the collection.

Next came the ballroom, glittering under a grand chandelier. Its polished floors reflected the light, and I could almost imagine the echoes of dancing feet and laughter from past gatherings.

She said this was one of four. How many ballrooms does this house need? Dad don't even seem like the type to host balls and parties. I doubt they get used often. I might have to change that.

Finally, we passed through the entryway, a sweeping space with marble floors and intricate carvings. Staff lined the corridors as we moved, bowing and greeting me as we passed. Each nod and smile made me feel… welcome, yet still slightly overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all.

Mary guided me through a tall set of glass doors that opened into the garden. The air was fresh and cool, carrying the scent of roses and lavender. Stone paths wound between flowerbeds, and the gentle hum of bees filled the silence between our footsteps.

Mary did say we have a huge garden. The west section of the garden I can see from above my balcony. That's where the pond is, the north is closer to the entrance, the south is near the back and the east is where, if any tea parties get held.