The study was thick with tension. Lady Amalia's voice rang sharp through the high-ceilinged room, cutting through the soft afternoon light filtering from the stained-glass windows.
"Annalise, I have told you again and again, etiquette lessons are not optional," Amalia said, her tone firm but weary. "Skipping them only shows a lack of respect."
Annalise's small face flushed with stubbornness, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I don't care about manners! What use are they when no one listens?" Her voice cracked with anger, the words tumbling out faster than she could stop them.
Amalia's eyes narrowed, but she did not interrupt.
Annalise's defiance grew. "You don't understand anything! You're never here, and you only care about rules and appearances."
The room seemed to shrink with the heat of their rising voices. Amalia's calm began to break. "I care for all of you, but you must learn discipline. The world beyond these walls will not wait for you to throw tantrums."
Annalise's cheeks flushed deeper, fury shining in her eyes. In a sudden, sharp motion, she grabbed the heavy leather-bound book from the low shelf nearby and hurled it across the room.
The book struck the delicate stained-glass vase on the side table with a shattering crash. Crystal fragments exploded across the polished floor, the sound echoing in the stunned silence.
Amalia's face went pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she said nothing. Her breath hitched, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"Annalise," she whispered, voice trembling with a pain deeper than anger.
Before Amalia could move, Michael stepped forward, his face set with quiet determination. He placed himself between his mother and his younger sister.
"You're not going to hit her," Michael said firmly.
Amalia's eyes snapped toward him, sharp and angry. "Michael, that is none of your concern."
"It is," he said, jaw clenched. "She's my sister. And you won't lay a hand on her."
The room crackled with tension as Amalia's gaze locked onto Michael's. Neither spoke for a long moment, the silence heavy with unsaid things.
Finally, Amalia's voice broke through, low and hard. "Very well. You both will be punished. You will stay in your rooms until dawn, no supper, no lessons. Perhaps that will teach you respect."
Michael's shoulders tightened, but he did not protest. Annalise's eyes brimmed with tears, but her mouth was set in a stubborn line.
The heavy wooden doors shut with a dull thud behind them as Michael and Annalise trudged to their rooms. Neither spoke during the walk, the weight of silence settling over them like a thick blanket.
In his chamber, Michael sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the practice sword resting against the wall. His mind churned, half anger, half worry.
She's hurting. I should have done something more.
A soft knock broke the silence. Annalise's small figure slipped through the door, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears.
"I didn't mean to... break the vase," she whispered.
Michael shook his head. "It wasn't just about the vase."
Annalise crawled onto the bed beside him, careful not to disturb the folds of the quilt.
"I'm scared," she admitted, voice small. "What if she stops loving me?"
Michael's jaw tightened. "She loves you, Annalise. Even if she's angry."
Annalise glanced down at her hands, twisting a thread on her sleeve.
"I don't want to be this angry all the time," she said quietly.
Michael reached out and gave her hand a firm squeeze. "Me neither."
For a long moment, they just sat there, the quiet between them growing warmer.
Later that night, the household had fallen silent. The castle corridors echoed only with the faint crackle of the dying hearths. The stars outside glimmered cold and distant through the tall windows.
In the quiet darkness of Michael's room, the door creaked open just a crack. A small figure slipped inside, cheeks flushed pink in the moonlight.
Annalise stood there, clutching two slices of honey tart wrapped in a thin napkin.
Michael's eyes flickered open, surprise softening into a quiet smile.
Without a word, Annalise set the tart on his lap.
"You're a terrible liar," she whispered, cheeks still pink. "But I'm glad you're mine."
Michael reached out and took one of the tarts, the warmth of the gesture breaking through the night's chill.
They ate in silence, feet swinging gently over the edge of the bed. The shattered pieces of the stained-glass vase glittered in Michael's memory, fractured but catching the light like tiny stars.
For a moment, the anger and punishment faded away, replaced by a fragile bond neither dared to speak aloud.
As the night deepened, Michael finally broke the silence.
"Do you think Mother will forgive us?"
Annalise shrugged, biting into her tart. "She loves us. She always does."
Michael looked toward the window, watching the stars twinkle.
"I just don't want to lose her," he admitted softly.
Annalise smiled, a small, hopeful thing. "We won't. We're a family."
Michael nodded slowly, his protective instinct solidifying like steel.
"Together," he agreed.
The two siblings sat close, the quiet night cradling them like a promise, fractured but unbroken
Sunlight spilled softly through the tall windows of the Edelhardt estate's great hall. The shattered stained-glass vase was gone, replaced by a fresh bouquet of pale lilies on the side table, Amalia's silent way of moving forward.
Michael and Annalise entered the breakfast room, still quiet from the night's punishment. Their footsteps echoed softly on the polished wooden floor.
Lady Amalia sat at the head of the long table, her expression calm but guarded. Across from her, Leopold was already perched on his chair, eyes bright and restless, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
Mathilde busied herself arranging fresh bread and honey on a platter, while Elias toddled near the fireplace, clutching his favorite wooden spoon like a sword.
Amalia glanced at Michael and Annalise, a flicker of softness in her eyes. "Good morning," she said quietly. "I trust you both understand the importance of respect, not just to me, but to each other."
Michael nodded, cheeks still tinged with the memory of last night's tension. Annalise gave a small, almost apologetic smile.
The room settled into a gentle rhythm of morning chatter, the quiet peace of family resuming.
Leopold suddenly leaned forward, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"You know Cook Alfred has a secret room?" he whispered, glancing around as if to make sure no one else heard.
Mathilde gasped, dropping a piece of bread. "A secret room? Really?"
Leopold nodded solemnly. "Yep. I saw it when I was hiding behind the pantry door last week. It's behind the big barrel of pickles. There's a little door carved into the wall, and inside, well, I don't know what exactly, but I heard noises and saw flickering light. It's like a treasure room!"
Elias clapped his hands excitedly. "Treasure! Treasure!"
Michael raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe it's just where he hides extra sweets."
Leopold shrugged, undeterred. "Maybe, but it feels important. Cook Alfred is very mysterious."
Lady Amalia chuckled softly. "Alfred does keep to himself more than most. But secrets, especially in a house like this, often have reasons beyond what we see."
Mathilde looked thoughtful. "Maybe it's where he keeps special recipes?"
Liora, who had been quietly observing from the corner near the window, stepped closer, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"A secret room? That sounds like something from the stories my mother used to tell," she said softly. "Places hidden away where people keep their most precious things."
Leopold glanced at her, nodding eagerly. "Exactly! Cook Alfred always looks serious, but maybe he's guarding something special."
Michael smirked but said nothing, watching the exchange with mild amusement.
Mathilde bounced on her chair, whispering, "I wonder if anyone else in the house has secrets."
Liora's gaze drifted to the old wooden staircase leading to the upper floors. "What about the gardener? Old Bram? I heard he talks to the trees and knows every corner of these woods."
Amalia smiled faintly, "Bram is a quiet man, but he's as much a part of this house as the walls themselves. He's been here longer than most."
Michael leaned forward, lowering his voice. "He's got a story or two. I heard he once saved a nobleman lost in the forest during a snowstorm."
Annalise rolled her eyes playfully but joined in, "And he's known to be grumpy if you step on his flower beds."
Liora laughed softly, the warmth of the room easing the tightness in her chest. "I'd like to meet him. Maybe he could teach me about the plants and trees. My mother knew a bit of that too."
Mathilde's eyes sparkled. "Maybe Bram knows where Cook Alfred's secret room is!"
Everyone chuckled, the lightness of the moment threading through their conversation like sunshine.