[redith].
That sa evening, Draven had a eting arranged for .
One of the private sitting areas was prepared—quiet, enclosed, away from the main corridors of the estate.
The windows were open just enough to let the evening breeze carry in the scent of pine and stone, and the lamps had been lit low, casting a calm, focused glow over the room.
Draven escorted there himself, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back before he stepped away once Mada Beatrice arrived.
She wasn’t alone. With her was another woman—older than , but younger than Beatrice, with sharp eyes and an air of quiet efficiency.
She introduced herself simply and respectfully, already carrying parchnt, ink, and a thin ledger tucked beneath her arm.
Once we were seated, Draven excused himself without lingering, because this whole event, though suggested by him, was mine.
I took a breath before speaking, grounding myself. "I don’t want this to be an event that looks generous," I said honestly, folding my hands together. "I want it to be useful."
Mada Beatrice’s lips curved into sothing approving, not indulgent. "Then tell us your intention, my lady," she said. "We will build from there."
So I did.
I explained that I wanted the gathering to focus on won and children—not as an act of charity, but as connection. A place where they could feel seen, heard, and supported.
Then I reminded them of my background in Moonstone, herbs and healing, and the knowledge passed down through hands rather than books.
"I want them to leave with sothing practical," I said. "Sothing they can use. Sothing that stays."
The other woman nodded and imdiately began writing. Batch by batch, we began to shape it.
First ca structure.
We agreed the event should be divided into segnts—arrival and settling, open discussion, practical demonstrations, and then distribution of food and supplies. Nothing rushed. Nothing overwhelming.
Then ca location.
"I want it here," I said without hesitation. "At the Oatrun Estate."
Mada Beatrice studied for a mont, then inclined her head. "That will carry weight," she said. "I will seek Elder Randall’s permission."
I nodded. I expected nothing less.
Next ca organization.
I requested that five of my maidservants head each departnt, and I said their nas aloud one by one as the other woman wrote them down carefully.
Azul — overall coordination and communication.
Kira — food preparation and distribution.
Deidra — seating, children, and guest comfort.
Coral — herbs, redies, and health materials.
Arya — inventory and supplies.
"They will report directly to ," I added. "I want clear channels."
Mada Beatrice smiled faintly. "You already think like a ruler."
I didn’t respond to that. I was too focused on the planning to consider anything contrary to it.
Then ca lists. Actual lists.
One for servants assisting in preparation. One for food supplies—grains, preserved ats, fruits, and teas. And one specifically for herbs and healthcare items.
I dictated that list slowly, and carefully.
Dried moonleaf.
Ground frostroot.
Soothing bark strips.
Clean linen wraps.
Small vials of antiseptic tinctures.
As I spoke, it settled inside that this wasn’t performance, but purpose.
By the ti the candles had burned lower, the table was scattered with parchnt—neat columns, categorized plans, responsibilities assigned with intention rather than haste.
Finally, Mada Beatrice closed her ledger.
"Once Elder Randall gives approval," she said, "you may fix the date and begin sending invitations."
I nodded, feeling a quiet, steady resolve replace the uncertainty that had followed since returning from my grandmother’s village.
This was my first step. Not as soone correcting a reputation. But as soone claiming her place.
When the eting ended and we stood, I realized sothing else, too. I was shaping the world around , no longer reacting to it.
---
I returned to our bedroom with Draven shortly after the eting, the weight of planning still humming pleasantly in my chest.
The mont the door closed behind us, I loosened my hair and kicked off my shoes, already thinking ahead to dinner.
Draven moved more slowly, watching with that familiar assessing look—one brow slightly raised, lips curved like he already knew the answer to the question forming in his mind.
"So," he said at last, shrugging out of his jacket. "How did it go?"
I turned to him, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
"It went really well," I said, then launched into everything—Mada Beatrice, the other woman, the lists, the departnts, the location, the structure of the event. I told him how organized it felt, how real. How it didn’t feel like an obligation, but sothing I wanted to do.
Draven listened without interrupting, arms folded loosely, his gaze steady on . When I finished, he nodded once.
"I knew you would handle it," he said simply.
Sothing warm settled in my chest.
We freshened up quickly after that, changed into dinner clothes, and made our way down together.
---
Dinner was already underway when we arrived.
The long table glead under soft lighting, servants moving in practiced silence as dishes were placed and refilled.
I had barely settled into my seat beside Draven when Elder Randall’s voice cut calmly through the low murmur of conversation.
"I heard," he said, setting his utensils down deliberately, "that you are planning an event."
Every eye at the table shifted—so curious, so surprised.
I straightened instinctively, eting his gaze. "Yes, father."
He studied for a mont, unreadable as always. Then he nodded.
"I’ve been inford of your request to use the Oatrun Estate," he continued. "You have my approval."
Relief blood instantly, but he wasn’t finished.
"Our people," Randall said, his voice steady, "respect leaders who are reachable. Who understand the struggles of the common folk, not just the politics of power. This is a good step."
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that again until my chest tightened.
"Thank you, father." I said sincerely.
He inclined his head, then added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "I will also provide financial support for the event. Expand your supplies. Reach more families."
For a second, I was too stunned to respond.
Earlier, before my eting with Mada Beatrice, Draven had already told he would sponsor the event himself—without hesitation. And now this.
I smiled, genuinely this ti. "I appreciate that, father. Truly."
Inside, I exhaled in relief. At least my husband’s pockets wouldn’t suffer for my ambition.
As conversation resud and plates clinked again, Dennis finally seed to realize what was being discussed.
"Wait—event?" he said, looking between us. "You’re hosting sothing?"
I nodded politely. "Yes."
His expression shifted from surprise to admiration. "That’s... actually impressive. Good on you."
"Thank you," I replied, all grace on the surface. But inside, I was already assigning him tasks.
I lowered my gaze to my food to hide the smirk tugging at my lips. Dennis had no idea what was coming.
Before I could savor the thought further, Jeffery spoke up.
"Luna, if you need help," he said calmly, "logistics, security, anything—let know."
Oscar followed imdiately. "Sa here."
I looked up at them, genuinely touched. "I appreciate that. I will be sure to reach out if needed."
Their nods were firm, respectful.
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