Ovelia’s POV
The mont the front door clicked shut behind Ace and the others, the house seed to exhale, the tension in the air dissolving like sugar in warm tea. Warm, soapy water sloshed in the sink as Ann and I scrubbed the breakfast dishes, our elbows occasionally bumping in comfortable silence. Mrs. linda humd a quiet folk tune beside us, her competent hands working with the ease of decades of practice as she rinsed each plate under the steady stream from the tap.
Sunlight stread through the kitchen window, catching the fragile rainbows trapped within the soap bubbles. My cloth moved in careful circles along the curve of a ceramic bowl, watching the droplets chase one another across its floral pattern. The rhythmic clink of dishes and the splash of water created a lulling rhythm, the kind of simple dostic peace I had only ever fantasized about in my stifling village days.
"Mrs. linda," I asked, carefully drying a glass that refracted the sunlight into crystal prisms, "where might I wash our clothes later?" The question ca out softer than I ant it to, hesitant.
She glanced over her shoulder, her silver-streaked braid swaying as she slid plates into the oak cabinet. "Out back, dear," she said warmly. "I’ll show you when we’re done here."
"Mother," Ann chirped, her voice bright with enthusiasm as she polished a fork, "I’ll help with the laundry."
That word—Mother—sent another ripple of warmth through my chest. It still caught off guard every ti Ann said it in front of , a strange mix of amusent and unexpected longing.
I smiled at her eagerness though my fingers tightened slightly around the glass. "I’d love that," I murmured. The words tasted foreign, but not unpleasantly so, like trying a new spice for the first ti.
Mrs. linda sighed as she arranged the last glass, her fingertips lingering a second too long on the cabinet door. "You’re blessed to have such a devoted daughter, Lia," she said softly. Then, quieter: "Children are... a special kind of gift."
The unspoken sorrow between us thickened the air—her earlier confession about their childlessness.
My throat tightened as I imagined small hands clutching at my skirts, a child’s laughter ringing through palace hallways. If I ever beca a mother, I’d—
The back door creaked open, cutting off the thought. Golden morning light spilled across the worn floorboards as Mrs. linda led us outside, and the sight stole my breath clean away.
Rolling fields of rice stretched to the distant mountains, their erald stalks swaying in the breeze like a living ocean. Two gnarled apple trees stood, their branches heavy with ripening fruit. Between them stretched a clothesline, its wire gleaming in the sunlight like a taught silver thread.
"Everything you’ll need is right there," Mrs. linda said, pointing to a chipped enal basin and a lavender-scented soap resting beside the water pump.
"Thank you, Mrs. linda," I breathed, already picturing our travel-worn clothes fluttering in that fresh, country air.
She hesitated, her fingers fluttering to her apron pocket. "I’m sorry to leave you, but I must check on patients at the village clinic." Worry lines pressed between her brows. "I’ll be back before lunch."
Ann perked up, "You’re a healer?"
"A nurse," she corrected gently, her eyes flicking to my bandaged arm. "So if that wound starts acting up, Lia..." She left the offer hanging as she stepped toward the door.
"We’ll be fine," I assured her, suddenly conscious of the injury—like the bandage was too tight, too noticeable beneath her kind scrutiny.
"Take care, Mrs. linda!" Ann called as Mrs. linda set off down the dirt road.
Mrs. linda looked back once more, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes before she disappeared around the bend.
The house settled into a deep silence after she left. Sunbeams slanted through the windows, painting golden rectangles on the wooden floor as I turned to Ann.
"Let’s gather the laundry," I suggested, rolling up my sleeves.
Her gaze imdiately dropped to my bandaged arm, her mouth pressing into a line. "Lady Ovelia, your wound—"
I waved her off with a small laugh. "Ace already treated it. It’s barely a scratch now."
Her lips pursed skeptically, but she followed upstairs without argunt. The steps creaked beneath our feet, the scent of sun-ward wood mingling with the grassy breeze drifting through the hallway window.
Ann entered into her shared room while I entered the one Ace and I had used. His scent—pine and sothing uniquely him—still clung to the crumpled tunic I gathered. The fabric was warm from sitting in the sunlight, as if still holding onto his essence.
Ann and I t in the hallway, both arms overflowing with clothes. Ann’s pile was so tall it nearly reached her chin.
"Let take those, Lady Ovelia," she offered, her eyes glinting with mischief above the mountain of fabric.
I laughed—bright and unrestrained, the sound foreign in my own ears. "If I give you these, you’ll disappear under an avalanche of laundry!" My words ca easier now, lighter, like I was finally learning how to breathe. "And Ann," I added softly, "when we’re alone... you can just call Ovelia. We’re friends, aren’t we?"
Her grin could have lit up an entire village. "Alright," she agreed cheerfully, then added with an impish flicker in her eyes, "...but I’ll probably still call you Lady Ovelia!"
•Chief Gareth Back Garden•
The garden welcod us with birdsong and rustling grass. We spread the laundry carefully across the grass, the fabrics whispering against the blades. Ann fetched a chipped enal basin and a brick of lavender soap while I wrestled with the hose, the tal nozzle cool against my fingers.
Water gushed into the basin, splashing in a mimicry of sumr rain. I watched the soap suds multiply as Ann stirred with careful, practiced motions.
"I’ll wash," I offered, pride straightening my spine. "I’ve done this plenty of tis before."
But Ann had already rolled up her sleeves, plunging her hands into the soapy water with a determined splash. "No Lady Ovelia, you rinse," she declared, scrubbing a tunic with military precision.
I filled two more basins, the water sloshing over the edges as I hauled them into place. The stool creaked under my weight as I sat beside her, the damp grass tickling my ankles.
Swirling Ace’s shirt through the rinse water, a thought that had been gnawing at since breakfast finally bubbled to the surface.
"Ann," I began, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears, "earlier, when Ace smiled at before leaving..." I hesitated, watching water drip from the sleeve I held. "My heart—it did this... this fluttering thing. And my face got so warm. Then when he walked away, I felt..." My words trailed off, suddenly too big to grasp.
Ann’s laughter burst forth, clear and bright as morning. "Lady Ovelia," she crowed, "I think you’re falling for Sir Ace!"
Heat exploded across my cheeks. My hand flew to my chest, as if I could cup the frantic rhythm of my heart—like a wild bird caught between my ribs.
"Lady Ovelia," she continued, her voice softening, "you’ve changed since we began this journey."
I blinked. "What do you an?"
Her soapy hands stilled. "Not in a bad way," she reassured . "You’ve grown stronger. More honest—with yourself, with ." Her steady gaze locked onto mine. "You share your thoughts now without even prying them out of you."
The rinse water stilled as I processed her words. Was this transformation due to Lady Firera’s presence within , or simply because I no longer had cruel parents waiting to punish my every misstep, every show of emotion?
"But you know, Lady Ovelia, " Ann continued, scrubbing a tunic with renewed vigor, "Sir Ace has changed too."
That caught off guard. Sunlight danced across the rippling water as I considered her words, my fingers tracing absent circles along the stitching on Ace’s shirt.
"Yes," I admitted at last, wringing out the fabric harder than necessary. Water stread through my clenched fingers. "Since we started spending ti together... properly, as friends... he’s different." My voice softened as images flickered through my mind—Ace’s careful hands as he wrapped my bandages, his rare, unguarded smiles, the way his voice would lower when he thought no one else was listening. "He’s gentler now."
Ann paused, tilting her head. "Gentle?" Her eyebrow arched playfully. "Was he rough with you before?"
My face burned so hot. "N-no! That’s not—!" My words tumbled out in a flustered ss. "The Ace I first knew was all sharp edges—dismissive, snapping at , treating like a burden." The mory of those early days tightened my throat. "But now... when he looks after , it feels genuin. Like he truly wants to protect ."
Ann’s teasing grin softened into sothing deeper, understanding lighting her eyes. "You know, Lady Ovelia, " she murmured, leaning closer, "he didn’t act that way with Lady Eliana." The rhythmic swish of fabric filled the pause. "With her, he was always maintained that princely composure—polite smiles that never reached his eyes. But with you..." She shook her head, sending soapy droplets flying. "He’s different. More open. More... himself "
A painful warmth spread through my chest—so intense I had to look away. Then, unbidden, Eliana’s face flashed in my mind—her grace, the way Ace’s voice softened speaking her na—and the warmth curdled to sothing heavier.
"But Eliana—" The na tasted bitter on my tongue. The rinse water turned suddenly cold against my fingers.
Ann’s hand closed over mine, stilling my frantic scrubbing. "Don’t torture yourself over her," she said gently. Water dripped from our joined fingers. "Ace has his own feelings to sort out. And Eliana... she has her own mate searching for her." She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Sotis letting go is the kindest thing we can do for soone we love."
The truth of her words settled over like sunlight soaking into my skin.
"Wait—" I yelped, my pulse spiking as I held up dark fabric. "This is Ace’s—?" The realization hit like tripping over a hidden step—sudden, flustering. My fingers curled slightly, the damp material cool against my skin.
Ann’s grin stretched impossibly wider, her eyes alight with accusation. "Lady Ovelia," she sing-songed, head tilting, "how did you know it was his underwear?"
Heat flooded my face. Because I saw him wear it last night. The thought scalded my throat, unspoken. I forced out a laugh—too loud, too brittle. "Uh—well—" I floundered, my free hand fluttering helplessly before shoving itself into the water.
Ann didn’t let up. Her laughter spilled out, bright and uncontained, and despite myself, mine lted into sothing real.
With the washing done, we carried the damp laundry toward the twin apple trees, their branches forming an arch over the clothesline. The wires sagged slightly under the morning breeze, glinting like strung-up starlight.
Ann marched ahead, her arms piled high with damp garnts. She stopped beneath the line, craning her neck and stretching onto her toes—only to fall short by a stubborn inch. She huffed, bouncing once, twice, but the wire stayed cruelly out of reach.
I bit back a laugh. "Ann, let hang them."
Her head whipped toward , stubbornness hardening her jaw. "No, Lady Ovelia! I can do it!" With a determined grunt, she launched upward—her braid swinging behind her—and snap! The clothespin closed in victory. She landed, grinning like she’d conquered a mountain. "See?"
This ti, I didn’t hold back. My laughter burst free, unrestrained, and Ann joined in—our voices tangling with the rustling leaves.
Then—Ann’s laughter cut off sharply.
Her shoulders tensed. Her gaze darted past , scanning the tree line with a sharpness that prickled my skin.
"I feel it again," Lady Firera’s voice coiled through my thoughts—tight, alert. "The sa mana as before. And just like yesterday... it’s gone."
My fingers twitched into fists at my sides. An enemy? But how could I warn Ann without exposing Lady Firera?
"Ann," I asked carefully, "is everything alright?"
She blinked, shaking herself slightly before offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s nothing, Lady Ovelia," she said, her voice too light, too quick. "Don’t worry about it."
Ann lied; she didn’t want to worry . But I already am.
I studied her another mont, but she’d already turned back to the clothesline, movents brisk. Swallowing my unease, I did the sa, pinning up the last garnt in silence.
As I reached for Ace’s shirt, I instantly rembered him and the others; my gaze drifted upward to the endless blue sky. Please be safe. The wish remained unspoken, carried away on the sa breeze that tugged at the freshly hung laundry.
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