After the tutor incident, life in the Grand Duchy settled into a familiar rhythm. Celia's new tutor was selected swiftly, a thoughtful choice that surprised me. I'd half-expected Mother to enlist one of the White Wolf knights to train her directly, but it made sense—strength and skill alone didn't make an ideal teacher. The knights were warriors, focused on their craft, not nurturing the first, awkward steps of a novice.
The days resumed their steady current of lessons and training, the passage of time marked by the rustle of pages and the clash of practice swords. But soon enough, a ripple of change arrived, breaking the quiet predictability of our days.
"Count Arlen's daughter will be visiting tomorrow for a playdate," Mother announced over a meal, her tone even but carrying the weight of intention.
Celia's eyes brightened, curiosity sparking across her face. "Count Arlen? Is he one of our vassals?"
"Yes," Mother confirmed, a hint of warmth touching her lips. "He is my most trusted vassal. His daughter, Isadora, is near your age, and I think you will enjoy her company. It's good for both of you to have friends outside these walls."
Celia's excitement was instant, a rare joy that made her eyes dance with light. The idea of another child our age in the estate, someone new to share our lessons and games, seemed to lift a hidden weight from her. As for me, I felt a guarded curiosity. Friends could mean loyalty, trust, and shared laughter, but they could also mean exposure and vulnerability.
The following morning dawned with a quiet sense of anticipation. The estate was more alive than usual, the air buzzing with the preparations for our guest. Servants moved briskly, ensuring that every corner was polished and welcoming, as if this visitor would judge the Grand Duchy by the gleam of its halls.
When the carriage finally pulled into the courtyard, Celia and I stood side by side, the crisp morning air filling the space between us. The carriage door opened, and out stepped a girl with auburn curls that caught the sunlight like copper. Her eyes were wide, holding a mixture of awe and shyness as she took in the grandeur of our home. She wore a dress in a soft green, embroidered with silver that shimmered as she moved.
She met our gaze, and for a moment, uncertainty clouded her expression. Then she dipped into a curtsy, the movement smooth but hesitant. "My name is Isadora," she said, her voice as light as a whisper.
Before I could respond, Celia stepped forward, reaching out to take Isadora's hand. "Come on, Isadora! Let me show you everything—the garden, the training hall, everything!" The exuberance in her voice was impossible to resist.
A flicker of surprise crossed Isadora's face, but it soon gave way to a smile, timid at first but growing as Celia's warmth enveloped her. She nodded, allowing herself to be pulled along, and I followed a few paces behind, watching them with quiet interest.
The garden, usually a haven of stillness with its rustling leaves and dappled sunlight, became a stage for new energy. Celia led Isadora through it with the zeal of an explorer, pointing out the intricacies of our childhood world. She dragged her from the rose-covered trellis to the fountain carved with the emblem of our house—a pair of wolves, fierce and watchful, guarding a lily centerpiece.
"This is the fountain!" Celia announced, leaning over to dip her fingers into the cool water. The droplets caught the light as she flicked her hand, sending a gentle spray toward Isadora. "And this," she declared with a playful grin, "is the splash zone."
Isadora gasped, eyes wide as the water sprinkled across her dress, and then, as if a dam had broken, laughter spilled from her lips. It was the kind of sound that made even the garden seem brighter, as if it were responding to the joy of its young visitors.
She hesitated for only a moment before leaning down to brush the water herself, casting a glance at me with eyes that sparkled with an unspoken challenge. I met her gaze, a smile tugging at my mouth. Before I could react, Celia's cry rang out.
"Water fight!" she yelled, seizing a small, decorative scoop and sending another playful splash our way.
Isadora shrieked, then giggled, her reserve melting away as she took up a small cup Celia handed her. She moved with an unexpected grace, sending droplets arcing with practiced precision. Watching her, I noted the shift—she was no longer a guest, but a participant, claiming her place among us with newfound boldness.
The game carried on, laughter mingling with the soft splashes, until we all stood dripping, clothes clinging and eyes bright. I caught a fleeting glance from Isadora as she brushed her wet curls back from her face. It was a look of gratitude, subtle but unmistakable, as if to say, *thank you for this moment.*
Eventually, we settled beneath the old oak tree at the garden's edge, its branches spreading like the arms of a watchful guardian. Celia, ever the storyteller, launched into a recounting of her imagined adventures, weaving tales so grand they made Isadora gasp and laugh in turn.
The soft hum of evening crickets began to fill the garden, mingling with the fading light as stars pricked the sky. Isadora's eyes would drift from Celia's animated face to mine, lingering as if trying to decipher some quiet riddle. I met her gaze, offering a small nod that seemed to reassure her.
In that moment, I realized that despite the strength and formality expected of us, there was space in our world for simple joys like this. The walls of the Grand Duchy, so often a symbol of power and isolation, felt softer now, bound not just by stone but by shared stories and laughter.
As the evening deepened, we remained under the oak, the stories giving way to a comfortable silence. The first cool breath of night swept through the garden, and Isadora's gaze flickered with a different kind of wonder, one that looked toward the future, as if she were imagining all the days yet to come.
Celia yawned, leaning into my side, her energy finally spent. I felt the warmth of her small form against me, and a rare sense of peace settled in my chest.
"It's nice, isn't it?" Isadora said, breaking the silence, her voice thoughtful.
"Yes," I agreed, my eyes drifting to the stars. "It really is."
The stillness that followed wasn't the silence of solitude, but of understanding—an unspoken promise that these moments, rare and precious, would stay with us long after the day was done.
And as the stars above us shone like watchful eyes, I felt a certainty that we were not just heirs to a legacy of power and responsibility, but children, allowed, at least for a while, to share in the simple beauty of a fleeting, perfect evening.