There he was. Standing there, speaking to another guard, who has been there in his stead. He turned at the sound of the door sliding and, the instant he saw her, he smiled-a small, careful smile, and then bowed.
She couldn't help herself. She smiled back, letting the corners of her lips curve in a way she hadn't allowed herself since that morning.
"Father-what did he say?" she asked, her voice soft, curious.
Ikari straightened and spoke, his tone respectful but warm. "He told me... to make sure you are safe, my Lady."
Miyo's chest warmed at the words. She wanted to say something else, to ask him something, but she only smiled. A smile that said everything she couldn't put into sentences.
Then, with a gentle exhale, she closed the door and returned to her seat, feeling a little lighter, knowing he was out there, watching over her.
***
"How was the meeting with the Counselors?"
The voice came before the knock ever did.
Droha looked up from the open scroll before him. Mehra stood by the door, already inside, as though the chamber had opened for her of its own accord. Few entered without summons. Fewer still did so without announcement. She was one of them.
"I did not see you at the council table," he said, setting aside his quill.
She walked further in, trailing her fingers across the round table. Over parchment. Over ink and quills. Over chairs left carelessly angled from raised voices and restless men.
"I was there," she replied lightly. "You were too busy winning arguments to notice."
He gave a tired chuckle. "The council meeting was marvelous, Three hours of men shouting about road repairs as if cracked stones are plotting rebellion. I swear, civil matters are the only battles where no one bleeds and everyone leaves thinking they've won."
She did not laugh.
Droha crossed the distance between them and took her hands. "Are you well?" he asked gently.
"Yes, dear," she answered, lifting her chin.
He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away. Her hands slipped from his grasp-quietly, deliberately. The absence of warmth struck harder than any shouted accusation.
He frowned. "Mehra?"
"I spoke to Miyo today," she said, drawing out one of the chairs and sitting down.
Droha watched her carefully now.
"I mentioned our journey to Storm's Reach," she continued. "And to my surprise... she knew nothing of it."
Droha inhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
Storm's Reach. The Western end. Mehra's homeland. They had agreed-he would tell Miyo. It would come better from him. He knew the ground was already fragile between wife and daughter.
When he opened his eyes, he said simply, "I forgot."
"You promised," Mehra replied.
"I know."
She looked at him then-not loudly angry, not tearful. Worse. Controlled. The disappointment in her eyes was sharp and measured.
"How did she take it?" he asked.
"You know how she is when she is upset," Mehra said, eyes fixed on the table.
Droha exhaled. "She did not-"
"I am trying, Droha," Mehra interrupted, her composure cracking just slightly. "I truly am trying."
He moved toward her, pulled a chair closer, and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. Slowly, he slid them down to her hands and held them firmly.
"I know," he said, his voice low and steady. "I know you are. These things take time."
Lifting her eyes to his. "An awful amount of time," she sighed.
She rose, and he instinctively helped her to her feet.
"Your mother arrives today," she said, smoothing her sleeves. "After months of travel. I must prepare. You know how she is when the slightest thing is out of place."
A faint smile tugged at his lips despite the tension. "Yes. I remember."
"I will be in my chambers," she added, already walking toward the door.
"Of course," he said.
The door slid shut behind her.
Silence settled heavily over the chamber.
Droha remained standing for a long moment, staring at the disordered table. He did not need to be told she was angry. Mehra grew quiet when wounded. Her silence was deliberate, never careless. He could only imagine what Miyo had said. Or worse-what she had not said. He rubbed a hand over his beard.
He did not understand the distance between them. From the first day Mehra entered White Haven as his wife, Miyo had built a wall-not dramatic, not rebellious. Simply firm. Polite. Impenetrable. Mehra had tried. He had seen it. Invitations to walk in the gardens. Offers to sit in on embroidery. Gentle conversations about books, about customs in Storm's Reach. Each attempt met with courtesy... and nothing more.
"It will take time," he had told Mehra. He had believed it. But a year had passed. And the space between them felt exactly as it had on the first evening they shared the same table.
***
The horn shattered the cool hush of the evening. One long, commanding blast. Then another. Miyo shot upright on her bed. Only nobles were announced with the horn. And from what she had heard, her grandmother would arrive today.
"Grandmama," she breathed-and then she was moving. She sprang from the bed and rushed toward the door.
"My Lady-!" Kiri called after her, but Miyo had already slipped into the corridor.
Kiri hurried after her. "Ikari, follow her!" she ordered sharply.
Miyo gathered the skirts of her gown in both hands and ran through the palace halls, light-footed despite the heavy fabric. She brushed past startled servants, dodged soldiers adjusting their formation, and ignored every voice that called her name. Through one of the high window arches, she caught sight of the gates.
They were open. An entourage flowed through like a river of color and metal. Four horsemen rode at the front, carrying a banner marked with a dragon's head in green and black. Behind them rolled two grand wheel houses, one larger than the other.
That was enough confirmation. Her grandmother had arrived. Miyo quickened her pace, descending the wide staircases before Kiri or Ikari could catch up. She burst through the palace doors and stepped onto the grand stairway outside. Servants and guards had already formed neat lines along the steps. She slipped between them, pushing past stiff shoulders and murmured protests until she reached the front.
Her father stood there, regal and immovable. She came to his side. Droha turned slightly at her presence. She smiled up at him, bright and unrestrained. After a brief pause, he returned it-measured, but warm.
Below them, the procession halted at the foot of the stairs. Two male servants stepped forward and carefully placed a carved step at the door of the first wheel house.
The door opened. A heavyset man emerged, blinking as though offended by the daylight. His face was flushed and damp with sweat despite the cold, framed by a thick, wild, black beard streaked with grey. He wore rich velvet doublets embroidered with the dragon's head, the fabric straining slightly across his middle.
"Uncle," Miyo muttered under her breath.
Lord Torra began climbing the stairs, his shoulders swaying with each step, breathing audibly before he had even reached halfway.
"Droha!" he boomed, spreading his arms wide as though conquering the climb itself were a victory. He embraced her father with loud enthusiasm. Behind him, several handmaidens descended gracefully. Then a young woman stepped out—Lady Keturah
Her attire was elaborate and layered. A deep teal robe embroidered with delicate silver patterns flows beneath a pale outer garment trimmed in rich fur. The fabrics appear heavy and luxurious, designed as much to display status as to provide warmth. The color palette-cool greens, blues, and muted gold. Her hair is styled high and intricately arranged, secured with ornate golden ornaments that reinforce her elevated standing. She moved with deliberate elegance as the servants bowed.
But before greetings could settle, a sharper voice rose from the second-and larger-wheel house. It was not loud. It did not need to be. There was the faint sound of scolding-measured, unimpressed, and entirely in control. The door opened.
An old woman stepped out, dressed in layered silks and brocade in muted greys and blacks, long sleeved and well structured, with high collar and jewelry on her neck and fingers. Her posture was straight despite her age. Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through armor.
Miyo's face lit like dawn breaking.
"Grandmama!" she cried-and without hesitation, she ran down the stairs toward her, ignoring her uncle entirely.
Miyo reached her grandmother before the old woman had fully steadied herself from the descent. She threw her arms around her.
Lady Oona staggered half a step and tightened her grip. "Oh, child," she said dryly, "if you intend to welcome me by murder, at least wait until I am properly inside."
Miyo pulled back at once-but only enough to look at her, her arms still loosely wrapped around her grand mother's waist.
Lady Oona's eyes, heavy and linden-grey, studied her granddaughter with sharp assessment. Nothing escaped that gaze. Not the excitement. Not the growth since her last visit.
"I have missed you too," Lady Oona said at last, the edge in her voice softening into something warmer. "Though I see the palace has not starved you."
"I have missed you more," Miyo replied quickly. "How was your journey? Did the roads treat you kindly?"
"The roads," Lady Oona sniffed, "are as loyal as politicians-full of holes and entirely unreliable. But I survived, as you can see."
She adjusted the fur at her shoulders. "Now, come. I am exhausted, and if I must greet one more sweating noble before tea, I shall retire permanently."
She slipped her arm through Miyo's.
As they began ascending the stairs, Lady Oona glanced over her shoulder. "You," she called to the handmaidens, "try not to drop anything expensive. The gifts are for my granddaughter, not for the stone steps."
"Yes, my Lady," they chorused, scrambling to obey.
At the top of the stairway, Droha stepped forward.
"Mother," he greeted, a diplomatic smile resting on his face.
Lady Oona looked at him briefly. "Droha. You look well."
"You as well," he replied.
She raised a brow. "Do not pretend surprise. I know you are never entirely pleased when I return. I disrupt your precious order."
Droha laughed lightly. "The palace has survived worse disruptions."
"Has it?" she asked coolly. "That is debatable."
Before he could respond, his attention shifted as Lady Keturah approached. Droha embraced her warmly.
"Keturah, welcome home," he said.
"My Lord," she replied sweetly, returning the gesture. "White Haven looks as grand as ever."
"Appearances are our greatest strength," Lady Oona muttered just loudly enough for Miyo to hear. Miyo bit back a smile.
Without waiting for further ceremony, she gently guided her grandmother forward.
"Your chambers have been prepared, Grandmama. I made sure the windows were opened before dusk."
"Good," Lady Oona said approvingly. "Stale air is for crypts and council rooms."
The handmaidens followed behind them, arms heavy with chests and wrapped parcels.
Together, they disappeared into the palace halls-grandmother and granddaughter moving in quiet synchrony.