The palace gates loom ahead as your carriage rolls to a stop, the wheels grinding against the stone path. You hesitate for only a moment before pushing open the door yourself, stepping down without waiting for a servant’s assistance. The air is crisp, carrying the distant murmur of the courtyard guards and the soft rustling of banners in the wind.

But the grand welcome you once hoped for is nowhere to be seen.

No father standing tall at the entrance. No stepmother with her sharp gaze ready to critique you. No Arnold, ever the dutiful heir, waiting to assess how much you’ve changed. No one.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your sleeves. After years of being sent away, after doing everything they asked of you… they couldn’t even bother to be here.

But then—

Footsteps echo across the courtyard. A single figure approaches, his presence both familiar and unexpected. Theodore.

His expression softens as he takes you in—your eager stance, your bright eyes, the remnants of the girl who once ran barefoot through these halls. He exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

“No matter how much time passes, you still rush forward like the wind,” he muses, a note of warmth in his voice. He doesn’t ask if you’ve changed. He doesn’t expect you to bow, to act as though years of etiquette lessons have drained you of life. He just sees you.

And for now, that’s enough.