Two gentle knocks echoed against the heavy wooden door.
Clara Prynne paused, as if expecting a reply despite knowing she wouldn't receive one. Silence stretched for a moment longer, and with a quiet breath, she turned the handle and entered the room.
What she found made her pause.
Her Grace was not draped in Alric's arms on the velvet chaise, nor curled contentedly in his lap—an image Clara had grown used to witnessing each morning. No quiet laughter, no teasing smiles exchanged between two people who'd once been inseparable. Instead, Elysia stood alone at the window, still and silent, her frame bathed in the silver glow of the fading night. She gazed out into the slowly waking world, eyes distant, body unmoving.
Clara's boots made only the softest sound against the polished floors as she stepped further in. She smoothed her skirt and offered a proper curtsey. "Good morning, Your Grace."
Startled, Elysia turned her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, a faint nod. "Miss Clara."
Clara straightened and tilted her head slightly. "Do you have anything planned for the day, Your Grace? Or shall I have the staff follow the usual schedule?"
Elysia blinked, then shifted her weight and crossed her arms lightly. "Let's… go with the usual. For now."
Clara moved to the nearby table, retrieving a slender leather-bound notebook from its place atop a stack of correspondence. She flipped to the page marked with a crimson ribbon and held it open toward Elysia.
"This is today's itinerary. Breakfast in the southern solarium, followed by correspondence review, then your visit to the Arcane Workshop, the military briefing for the western border at midday, then—"
Elysia's eyes widened. "That's… full."
Clara's tone was crisp. "It is the light version, Your Grace. Your original schedule included a discourse with the western vassals and an inspection of the aerial route plans."
Elysia winced faintly, eyes flicking back to the window. "Before any of that, I need to admit something, Clara."
"Of course," Clara said, notebook closing with a soft snap.
"I don't remember the palace. The layout. I keep assuming it's smaller than Almeida, but now I'm not even sure how far the garden goes."
Clara didn't so much as blink. "His Grace anticipated this."
Elysia turned back toward her, brows raising. "He did?"
A faint light entered Clara's otherwise composed expression. "Yes. He asked Baron Fitzroy to guide you today."
There it was—barely perceptible, but unmistakable. The hint of warmth in her voice when she said his name. Her usually pristine tone dipped into something more human, more personal.
Elysia tilted her head, studying her attendant closely. "You seem… rather fond of the Baron."
Clara cleared her throat too quickly. "He is efficient, highly intelligent, and meticulous in all tasks he undertakes. A fine representative of House Arzest."
But her cheeks betrayed her—just faintly touched by color. Elysia's lips curved ever so slightly. So Clara Prynne wasn't as entirely unreadable as she tried to be.
"I see," Elysia murmured.
Composing herself, Clara turned to the door. "I'll summon the maids to help you prepare. Baron Fitzroy will be waiting shortly."
Elysia gave a quiet nod, her thoughts already drifting elsewhere.
Back to the dream—or the vision, whatever it was—that had disturbed her rest.
Count Æther's voice still echoed faintly in her ears. His presence had felt far too real. And those final words—"Think about what you know. Stop self-restraining."
What did she know? What was she holding back from herself?
As the maids entered and began tending to her hair and garments, Elysia sat still and quiet, her eyes fixed on the far corner of the room—where reality and memory continued to blur.
----------
Elysia adjusted the hem of her walking attire—simple, yet elegant enough to carry her station—before taking a deep breath and approaching the chamber doors. Expecting to wait or perhaps wander until Baron Fitzroy arrived, she reached for the handle—
Only to be met with the sudden presence of a figure standing silently on the other side.
Her hand stopped mid-motion, startled by the man before her.
Clad in stark black, Baron Edmund Fitzroy stood like a shadow that had taken form—his bearing refined, minimalistic in every fiber of his being. His posture was impeccable, and not even the faintest sound had betrayed his approach.
"Forgive the surprise," he said coolly, dipping his head. "I tend to walk light. Shall we?"
Elysia blinked, recovering quickly from the unexpected encounter. "I… Yes. Let's."
The moment they stepped out, a warm wind brushed past them. The estate stretched around her like a living city—walls blooming with ivy, courtyards basking in morning light, and distant towers gleaming against the rising sun.
"We'll begin with the perimeter path," Fitzroy explained, his tone formal but not cold. "It encircles the Central Palace and connects most of the outer structures."
As they moved along the stone path edging the courtyard, they soon passed by the Training grounds.
The sounds of metal clashing and shouted orders echoed. There, amidst rows of squires and knights in mid-drill, stood Alric—his violet eyes sharp, posture relaxed yet commanding as he observed the drills.
Elysia slowed, watching him speak quietly to a younger knight, correcting his form with a brief demonstration. She noticed how the others straightened the moment he passed. There was no need for him to raise his voice; respect followed him like a second shadow.
Fitzroy spoke, his voice almost unreadable, "His Grace leads by example. Even now, only two can match his form."
Elysia looked away before her gaze lingered too long. "He trains with them often?," wondering who those two were.
"Every morning. Without fail."
Their next steps took them through a curved path that cut into the Palace Gardens—but only a small section of it.
Lush vines and ancient trees lined the stone walk, and just ahead, a familiar shimmer of motion caught Elysia's eye.
She stopped.
There, standing beneath a flowering ash tree, was the black mare.
Its coat shimmered like obsidian under the sun, its deep eyes fixed directly on Elysia.
"...That was the one I saw this morning," Elysia whispered.
Fitzroy followed her gaze, then inclined his head slightly. "That would be Arcelia. She's yours, Lady Elysia."
"Mine?"
"She has refused every stable hand since your arrival. Even His Grace couldn't approach. But she bowed to you once—and that was enough."
The mare stepped forward slightly, huffing softly. Elysia lifted her hand instinctively, and though the mare didn't come closer, her ears perked and her eyes softened.
She watched them until they resumed walking, then turned back and disappeared into the garden's grove.
Their route shifted once again.
They passed by a series of marble-fronted buildings, smaller but adorned with elegant crests and colorful banners.
"Guest lodgings," Fitzroy explained. "For foreign delegates, monarchs, or visiting high courts. Some remain unused for decades—others, occupied on a rotating basis."
She made a note to explore them later. Diplomacy always left behind artifacts worth investigating.
Next came a broad, stone-tiled lane flanked by iron doors. One opened slightly as they passed, revealing rows of armor stands and glowing artifacts.
"This," Fitzroy gestured, "is the Armory."
He continued, without pausing long enough for her to look further, "And that—" he motioned to a series of interconnected towers topped with Bronze spires, "—is the Workshop. The domain of Arzest's engineers, and experimental theorists."
Elysia's pace slowed. "Can I see it later?"
"Absolutely. You hold rank there."
She blinked. "I do?"
"You're listed as the Fourth Sigil of the Eldrasil Council. Your input is highly regarded."
She said nothing—but her heart beat faster.
She didn't feel like someone so important. Not yet.
Eventually, they reached a quiet path flanked by flowering trees and shaded ivy-covered walls.
And there, nestled humbly between two outer halls, stood an ancient-looking structure—small, square, with nothing but a symbol of two dragons coiled in embrace above its entrance.
"The Lineage Hall," Fitzroy said simply. "This is where memory is kept."
Elysia halted, her breath catching.
Inside was a single chamber. No floors, no levels. Just a vast open space lined with towering portraits, row after row, floor to ceiling. The air shimmered with containment magic. Dimly lit sconces burned with violet flame.
"It's enchanted," Fitzroy explained. "To compress its size externally. This is the Arzest Lineage Hall. It holds every Grand Duke and Duchess who has ever ruled."
He gestured toward the most dominant painting, centered high above the rest.
The figures in it were majestic.
"The founders," Fitzroy said. "Lucius Aldir Arzest and Rapthra Arzest."
Elysia stepped closer.
The Duke in the portrait bore noble lines, deep-set eyes, and an aura of command. But no features she could immediately connect to Alric. It was the woman beside him that stole her attention.
Her blue-black hair shimmered like the night sky. Her amethyst eyes glowed with quiet wisdom, and her smile—
Elysia's eyes widened.
That smile. Those eyes. That quiet strength.
She turned slightly, studying the gleam of the Duchess's skin.
Scales?
Elysia instinctively reached for her memory stone, clutching it tightly.
Nothing.
No image appeared.
She blinked, disturbed.
"Come," Fitzroy said gently. "There's one more portrait you'll wish to see."
They walked down a quieter corridor, toward a smaller wall. There, a family of four stood proudly in a more recent painting.
The woman—a graceful figure with ash-gold curls and sea-green eyes.
The man beside her—tall, powerful, with those familiar violet eyes.
Alric's father, Wyatt Nolan Arzest.
Her gaze snapped to the two young men standing beside them.
One was Alric—young, perhaps sixteen.
And the other—
Her heart nearly stopped.
A tousled-haired boy with sharp, wolfish eyes and a roguish grin.
She knew that face.
'Gus.'
The mercenary who had helped her near Almeida's border. The one who saved that caravan. Who vanished without goodbye.
"That's… who is that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Lucian Vidal Arzest," Fitzroy replied casually. "His Grace's younger brother."
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Memory flashed.
Lucian. Not Gus. Lucian. Arzest.
Count Æther's words echoed again: "Use your memories."
It wasn't just a memory from this life. It was her past life. The Novel.
The pieces had been scattered. But now, they began falling into place.
lysia's steps felt heavier as they exited the Hall. Her mind was a whirlwind of half-revealed truths and symbols hiding in plain sight. Lucian Vidal Arzest. Gus. The novel. Everything was colliding.
They continued in silence, the morning now fading into noon.
Their final stops were the Stables and the Aviary.
Fitzroy remained respectfully silent as Elysia walked through rows of perfectly-groomed horses—none watching her quite the way Arcelia had. The air there smelled of leather and hay, with enchantments subtly keeping the air clean.
And then, the Aviary.
A glass dome towered over their heads, housing birds of all shapes and colors—falcons bred for messaging, even rare skyfins with iridescent feathers.
"This is where air-bound correspondences are dispatched," Fitzroy explained. "His Grace personally trained many of the carrier falcons."
"Of course he did," Elysia murmured, almost smiling.
At last, they returned to the shadow of the Central Palace.
Baron Fitzroy turned to her, offering a perfectly measured bow. "That concludes the grounds tour for today, Lady Elysia. If there is any part you wish to revisit, I will accompany you."
Elysia nodded distractedly. Her thoughts still drifted to that painting. That name.
Lucian.
"I will call for your tea to be served in the garden," Fitzroy added, stepping back. "It may help settle your thoughts."
Elysia, blinking out of her trance, looked up at him. "Thank you, Baron Fitzroy."
His eyes met hers for a moment—sharp, discerning, but kind beneath the composure.
"I serve House Arzest," he said softly. "And that includes its Lady."
With a final bow, he turned and disappeared through the corridor—quiet as he had arrived.
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