The marquis' residence was quiet in the late afternoon.
Winter light slipped gently through tall windows, resting on polished floors and pale walls untouched by urgency. Everything stood exactly as it always had, orderly and restrained, as though time itself moved more carefully within those rooms.
Ellora sat across from her parents with composed posture, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
No servants attended them.
No witnesses lingered nearby.
"Ellora," her father said, his tone measured, "the palace has sent word."
She did not react immediately. She had known this moment would come long before it did.
"The date has been decided," her mother continued. "Your marriage to Crown Prince Aster will be announced within the week."
Ellora lowered her gaze, not in submission but in thought.
So it has arrived at last.
The agreement had been formed before she understood what marriage meant, before she learned that duty could exist without affection. As the only daughter of a marquis, her future had never been entirely hers.
"I understand," she said calmly.
Her mother watched her carefully. "Do you wish to say anything?"
Ellora paused only briefly.
"There is nothing to object to," she replied. "This was always expected."
Her father nodded, relief passing quietly across his expression. "You were raised for this responsibility."
"Yes," Ellora said softly. "I was."
The matter ended there.
No argument followed. No reassurances were offered. What had been decided required no further discussion.
Later, alone in her chamber, Ellora stood by the window overlooking the city beyond the estate. Dusk settled slowly over the rooftops, the sky fading into muted shades of winter blue.
She removed the pins from her hair one by one, setting them carefully upon the vanity. Honey-blonde strands fell loosely over her shoulders, catching the last light of day.
Only then did the memories surface.
The palace garden, warm beneath summer sun.
Ellora and Amellia sat beneath a pavilion, porcelain teacups resting lightly between their fingers. Amellia laughed as she poured the tea, her expression gentle and perfectly composed, even then skilled in appearing agreeable.
Across the lawn, Aster and Hayes sparred with wooden swords, their movements clumsy but enthusiastic. Aster's golden hair shone brightly as he turned, confidence already effortless in his posture.
"Watch this," he called, grinning.
Hayes parried without difficulty, stepping back with calm precision. He spoke little, even as a child, his presence quieter but heavier somehow, his gaze always observant.
Ellora rose from her seat, smiling despite herself.
"Don't hurt each other," she called.
Aster turned immediately when he heard her voice. He crossed the grass toward her, sword forgotten.
"When we marry," he said easily, as though it were inevitable, "we'll be the perfect couple."
Ellora laughed. "That's a bold promise."
He took her hand without hesitation and pressed a brief kiss against her knuckles.
A few steps away, Hayes had gone still.
His wooden sword hung loosely at his side, his attention fixed not on the game, but on Ellora. He said nothing. He never did. But his gaze lingered longer than it should have, unreadable even to himself.
Amellia lifted her teacup.
The porcelain trembled faintly between her fingers.
The memory faded.
Ellora opened her eyes to the quiet of her chamber.
Somewhere between that summer afternoon and the present, something had shifted.
Aster no longer spoke to her with the same ease. Their conversations had grown careful, polite where warmth once lived.
And the letters from the North—
Ellora turned toward her writing desk.
It remained untouched, as it had for years.
At first, there had been letters. Brief and formal.
Then, nothing at all.
She rested her hand against the cool surface of the desk.
Time, she told herself, changed everything.