Sunlight streamed through the windows.
The study looked familiar and foreign all at once—the same space she'd visited countless times, now transformed by something as simple as *light*.
Marin's gaze drifted across the room.
A wide desk, imposing and meticulously organized. Bookcases stretching floor to ceiling, packed with volumes in leather bindings. Along one wall, an array of swords hung in precise rows—ceremonial blades, practice weapons, a few that looked far too sharp for display. Burgundy wallpaper with a dark sheen caught the sun and gleamed like wine.
The window—freed at last from those oppressive black curtains—stood slightly ajar. The air still carried a faint staleness, as though the room had only just begun to breathe again.
*He opened the window knowing Perido would come?*
How had he known? *Ah.* Main character intuition, presumably.
"So this is what it looks like inside..."
Her whisper was barely audible, but Olive caught it. He suppressed a smile and quietly blew out the candle he'd prepared.
"Please, come in."
"Yes. Perido, let's go."
Perido craned his neck, black eyes wide as he took in everything—the weapons, the books, the sheer *size* of the space.
"Good morning, Lord Gerald." Marin's voice carried a smile. "It's wonderfully bright in here today."
"...Good morning."
Perido had retreated behind her skirt, only his small face peeking out.
"Yes," the Duke acknowledged with a quiet nod.
Olive offered his own greeting, cheerful as ever:
"Good morning, Your Grace."
The Duke inclined his head, then turned his attention to where Perido stood half-hidden.
"What brings you here?"
Perido hesitated. His fingers released the fabric of Marin's skirt, and for a moment he seemed uncertain.
Then he squared his small shoulders and marched directly toward the Duke's desk.
"I'm sorry, Duke." His voice came out clear and determined. "I'll blow on it and make it better."
"...What?"
The Duke's serene mask cracked almost imperceptibly. He spoke slowly, as though uncertain how to respond to such an unexpected declaration.
"I hit you yesterday. I'm sorry if it hurt." Perido leaned forward, trying to peer over the edge of the massive desk toward the Duke's legs. "So I'll blow on it and it will stop hurting."
Marin pressed a hand to her chest, heart melting at the boy's earnest sincerity.
*Are children really this precious? Do such creatures truly exist?*
Even Olive's perpetually mild expression softened into something approaching wonder as he watched the exchange.
"...It didn't hurt," the Duke said finally, his voice gruff with obvious embarrassment.
"But Ruby always says it hurts when I hit her even once."
"You shouldn't hit your sister."
Perido nodded solemnly. "We were playing ball. It was an accident. I won't do it again."
"Good."
The Duke raised his hand—and stopped mid-motion.
Seeing the large palm hovering above him, Perido tilted his head up and positioned himself directly beneath it.
"You can pet me. I give you permission."
*Oh...*
Marin awkwardly lowered her own hand—the one she'd used to ruffle his hair without asking.
*Apparently permission is required?*
The Duke ran his fingers through Perido's soft black hair, the gesture careful, almost reverent.
"Duke, may I play here for a while?"
The Duke stroked the boy's head once more, then turned to Olive.
"Olive. Prepare a chair. The comfortable one."
"Yes, Your Grace." Olive's smile was radiant.
"I'll sit with Teacher," Perido announced thoughtfully. Always considerate—even thinking of saving his teacher the trouble of extra furniture.
"Then a long bench."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"What else do you need?"
"Teacher?"
Perido turned those round black eyes toward Marin, silently requesting assistance.
"Hmm..." She considered. "Paper, pastels, and perhaps some snacks?"
Perido nodded vigorously in agreement.
"I'll bring everything at once."
Olive swept out of the study, practically glowing.
---
## — The Outbuilding —
Garnet knocked on Daya's door.
No answer.
"Sister?"
She cracked the door open and peered inside.
Daya lay on the bed, deeply asleep.
*Strange.* Her sister was usually sensitive to the slightest sound—the kind of person who woke at a creaking floorboard. But she hadn't even stirred at the knock.
Something had happened last night. Garnet was certain of it. But Daya remained stubbornly silent, refusing to explain.
Carefully, Garnet eased the door shut so as not to wake her and padded down the hall to Rubiena's room.
She raised her hand to knock—but before her knuckles could connect, the door swung open.
"Ruby, where are you going?"
"To see the Viscountess."
"Why *there*?"
Garnet's tone sharpened with displeasure.
"We're friends."
"*Friends*?"
"Yes." Rubiena clutched a book to her chest, chin lifted with quiet defiance. "We decided to be friends. I read aloud to her every day."
"How productive of you."
Rubiena studied her older sister with knowing eyes.
"It seems like *you're* the one with nothing to do. Would you like me to play with you?"
"I'll manage *fine*!"
Garnet planted her hands on her hips, attempting to look fierce.
"Suit yourself." Rubiena shrugged. "I'm busy."
"*Ruby!*"
"I'll play with you later. Bye!"
Rubiena swept past and headed up to the third floor, leaving Garnet staring after her with growing indignation.
"Hmph. What a waste of time."
She descended the stairs with deliberate resolve and flung open the outbuilding door.
Winter wind rushed to meet her, sharp and biting. Her golden hair and the hem of her dress whipped wildly in the gust.
"I have things to do too," she announced to the empty air. "I'm *sure* I'll find something."
The moment the words left her lips, a wave of melancholy crashed over her.
The Count's estate had always been crowded. *Noisy*. Full of laughter and warmth and the comfortable chaos of home.
Here, in the Duke's castle, she didn't know what to do with herself. Couldn't find her footing. Couldn't locate joy anywhere.
Wandering without direction, she eventually found herself near the main castle building—the Duke's residence.
*Perido is probably inside right now. Should I ask to see him?*
She kicked absently at a pebble, weighing her options, when a voice interrupted her thoughts:
"Lady Garnet?"
She looked up.
An elderly man stood before her—broad-shouldered and powerfully built despite his years, with a neatly trimmed white beard and kind eyes.
"Yes?"
"Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. I'm Sebas Chen, the head butler. You may simply call me Sebas."
"Ah... right."
Garnet nodded vaguely and dropped her gaze.
She shouldn't have wandered this far. She had no desire to make conversation with the Duke's people.
"What brings you here, my lady?"
"Nothing. Just walking."
"I see."
"It's boring out here. I was about to go back."
She'd already half-turned to leave when the butler spoke again, his tone gently inviting:
"Have you visited the stables?"
"The stables?"
Her response came too quickly, too eagerly. She caught herself and bit her tongue.
"Yes. There's a rather remarkable horse there. May I show you the way?"
Garnet arranged her expression into studied indifference.
"Fine. I suppose we can take a look."
---
The stable held fewer horses than she'd expected.
"These are under special care," Sebas explained. "That's why there aren't many."
"I see."
He led her to the stall at the far end of the row.
The horse inside had a striking appearance: a jet-black muzzle contrasting sharply with a body of pure white. It recognized Sebas immediately and whinnied in greeting, pressing its nose against his palm.
He stroked the horse's neck with evident affection, then turned to Garnet.
"What do you think?"
"She's unusual."
"She's quite old now. More than twenty years."
"Really?" Garnet's eyebrows rose. "She seems so spirited."
"This horse belonged to your mother." Sebas's voice softened. "That is—to Lady Garnet's mother."
Garnet's hand, which had been reaching toward the horse, froze mid-air.
*Mom's horse?*
She hadn't expected to encounter the past here—hadn't been prepared for it to surface so suddenly, so *painfully* familiar.
"When your mother left for the South, she wanted to take this horse with her." Sebas's gaze grew distant with memory. "But in the end, she said: 'Let her stay with the family. The horse's whole family is here.' And with a heavy heart, she left without her."
Garnet's fingers trembled slightly as they finally made contact with the soft fur. The horse exhaled contentedly beneath her touch.
"That sounds exactly like her."
"Doesn't it?"
Sebas offered her an apple. Garnet took it and held it out; the horse accepted it with gentle eagerness.
"What's her name?"
"Chernysh."
A smile broke across Garnet's face—genuine, unguarded.
"*Of course* it is. That was Mother's way. If she saw a pink bird, she'd name it Pink. If she found a yellow puppy, she'd call it Yellow."
"She's been like that since childhood."
Sebas smiled too, sharing the memory.
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Garnet spoke again, her voice casual but careful:
"Butler Sebas..."
"Yes, my lady?"
"Is the name 'Sebas' common here?"
"I'm the only one by that name in the Duke's castle."
"Then—" She hesitated. "Were you, by any chance, once the vice-commander of a knight order?"
Sebas's weathered face registered genuine surprise, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening.
"How do you know that?"
"Mother told me." Garnet kept her gaze fixed on the horse. "She said she learned swordsmanship from the vice-commander when she was young. And sometimes..." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "Sometimes she taught *me* as well."
"I see..."
Sebas ran his hand along the horse's neck, a shadow of old grief passing across his features.
Garnet drew a breath and turned to face him directly.
"Could you teach me too?"
Her eyes were bright—insistent, eager, and just a little bit afraid.
Sebas studied her expression for a long moment.
*Did Marin really foresee all of this?*