The west sunroom smelled of warmed honey and old paper. Late light poured through tall panes and painted the polished floor in strips of molten gold. Velvet cushions were scattered like small islands across the rugs. A low fire whispered in the grate, not for display but for comfort. This was where the Ashthorns stopped being a lineage and became a family.
Elinor reigned from a chaise, a tornado of ribbons and stuffing and triumph. She had arranged her spoils into a coronet, then declared it unsatisfactory and began braiding more. Her stuffed fox was draped across one knee like a royal scepter.
Kaelric sat on the floor with a practice blade across his lap, oiling its edge with the impatient focus of someone who preferred outcomes to conversation. His hair was a bright banner in the last sunlight. He glanced up, grinned at Lucian, then pretended to return to his task.
Serenya lounged in a corner chair, a book open on her lap but her eyes on everything else. Quiet as a ledger, she catalogued voices, posture, and the tiny sliding expressions people used when they thought no one was watching. When she smiled, it was a thing kept for private use only.
Lucian came in last, hands full of small boxes and a faint scent of market spice clinging to his clothes. His raven hair carried a touch of dust at the temple, and his red eyes caught the amber light like twin coals. He set the parcels down on the marble, made a show of looking exhausted, and bowed theatrically to Elinor.
"Your Majesty," he intoned, handing over a velvet pouch. "Gifts for the consumerist sovereign."
Elinor leapt up and tackled him, laughing into his chest. "You kept your promise! You kept it! I told Mama you would."
Kaelric snorted from the floor. "You parade like a beggar, and he buys you a coronet. Very efficient governance."
Serenya closed her book and slid an appraising look across the room. "You both make a terrible show of public relations and family loyalty. It works though, I admit."
Lucian softened as Elinor buried her face in ribbons. He unwrapped a tiny carved bird, its wings painted with impossible detail. The child shrieked with delighted outrage and immediately began planning a flight path through the sunroom.
Lady Elira moved through them like warm air. Her blonde hair caught the light and made the room brighter. She took the bird gently, studying the craftsmanship as if reading the poem the handiwork contained. "Where did you find such a thing, Lucian?" Her voice was calm and pleased, the kind of praise that felt like permission.
He shrugged, careful not to mention the bargaining and the swindler he had unmasked in the alleys. "You'll never guess. A cunning man with a stall and very questionable sales ethics."
Elira's smile was private and enormous. "Questionable sales ethics are often the foundation of fine taste." She set the bird on a windowsill where Elinor might admire it but not wreck it. Then she sat, folding her hands, and watched them like a captain watching her crew.
Conversation drifted toward nothing and back to everything. Kaelric teased Lucian about the market spectacle. "You flirt with a Veyra lady in the square and then buy our sister half the stalls," he said. The blade in his lap made a small metallic clink that was somehow an accusation.
"Kaelric," Serenya said mildly, which carried the weight of a verdict. "Practice your threats elsewhere. We'd prefer intact ribs if we must host a future wedding."
Lucian rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed. "Do not fret. I plan to be prompt and ruinously generous when the time comes."
Elinor, from her throne, mimed scandal with a hand to her mouth. "He called her beautiful like a poem!" she announced, which was both embarrassing and the proudest thing in the world to confess.
Lucian went a color that couldn't hide in the firelight. He reached out, patted Elinor's head, and said, "Poems are unreliable narrators, darling. But they do look nice framed on walls."
The twins laughed in two different keys. Kaelric's laugh was a hammer, Serenya's a soft note of amusement. Elira's hand stilled for a heartbeat as if she were committing the sound to memory.
A footman slipped in, face composed, bearing a single envelope stamped with the Veyra crest. Lucian's fingers tightened for a sliver of a second when he saw it. He had learned, in years of courtly navigation, how to keep a face that declared nothing at all.
"Delivery from House Veyra," the footman said, bowing. He left as if the stone floors themselves might gossip if he lingered.
Lucian broke the seal with the slow care of someone opening a small, dangerous gift. The letter inside was spare, written in a voice that was polite but precise.
My Lord Ashthorn,It would be prudent to keep certain activities discreet. The square is not the place for matters that pertain to family. I trust you will see to it.— Lysette Veyra
The paper was cool between his fingers. Lucian read it once under the lamplight, then folded it and slid it into his pocket as if it were an insignificant pebble. He did not show surprise. His posture did not change. Only the light in his eyes flickered, a shift small enough to be missed.
Kaelric whistled low. "She writes like she's pruning a hedge. Is she upset because our family has good taste in public amusements?"
Serenya's gaze slid toward Lucian with that small, measuring look of hers. "She is precise. That isn't merely etiquette."
Elira, who understood both politeness and power, folded her hands. "They are dancing a delicate waltz of houses. A note like this is an invitation to conversation, not an accusation."
Lucian let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I'll reply with the appropriate level of humility and idiocy," he said lightly, earning twin groans from his siblings.
Elinor, oblivious to all politics, had other priorities. She bounded back toward the table and pointed at the tray of sweets. "Luci, you must promise me another treat later. Promises are important." She pressed both small hands over her heart, utterly solemn.
Lucian crouched to her level and pretended to be gravely moved. "Of course. For the Queen of Ribbons, I'll buy sweets until the stalls cry for mercy."
"You'll crumble the economy," Kaelric said, mock-serious.
"You'll be adored," Serenya added, her mouth lifting a fraction.
Elira glanced around the room, the laughter, the scent of tea and steel polish, the glow of the fire catching on the blades above the mantel. "The Ashthorn hearth still burns warm," she said softly. "Whatever the world whispers outside."
Lucian smiled at that, because for once, the world outside could wait.
Later, with the light dimming and the fire reduced to a patient glow, he stood by the window. The city blurred into silhouettes, lanterns blinking like small fires. The note in his pocket felt heavier than paper had any right to be.
Serenya crossed the room and leaned beside him. "She'll come again," she said quietly.
"Let her," Lucian answered. "We'll be entertaining."
Kaelric called from the hall, "Just don't forget who'll break your jaw if you break hers."
Elinor, half-asleep in Elira's arms, mumbled something about pink towers and ponies. Lucian smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair, which smelled of sugared honey and sunlight. He promised, with the calm certainty of someone who keeps a thousand promises and intends to keep them all.
Outside, the sun bled into steel-gray dusk, the quiet before something sharp.