Grand Duke's Estate, Morning of the Return
The enchanted birds were silent this morning.
Not because they'd malfunctioned, oh no, they'd been perfectly tuned to chirp five seconds after sunrise, like little feathery metronomes.
But today? Nothing. Nada. Zip.
It was as if even they knew the estate was about to explode in fancy chaos.
The air felt... wrong. Not hot. Not cold. Just too clean.
The kind of clean where even the dust had been formally evicted with a handwritten scroll and a signature from a royal broom.
The chandeliers were sparkling way too hard, almost like someone had bribed them with compliments.
And the hallways—those long, glittering hallways of the Grand Duke's estate—were crawling.
With people.
Dozens of unfamiliar faces moving in perfect sync.
Some in stiff uniforms, others in noble greys and whites, all busy doing the most.
Already-clean marble floors? Wiped again.
Polished silver trays? Inspected like they were bombs.
Even the suits of armor that lined the corridor—some real, some enchanted, some possibly haunted—were being dusted with fluffy brushes by staff who looked like they had no idea if the armor might blink.
It was chaos.
But the elegant kind. The kind only highborn nobles and their wildly overpaid servants could pull off while keeping straight faces and perfect posture.
And right in the middle of this expensive panic—
In the quiet corner of the third tower's east wing—
Jenna sat on her vanity stool like a stage actress in the middle of a tragic monologue.
One foot was stuck dramatically outward.
Her scowl could melt frosting.
Her long black hair—usually wild and free like an untrained spell—was currently under siege.
"Linaaaa, it hurts!" she whined.
The enemy?
Lina, her personal maid. Also known as: Commander of the Hairbrush Army.
She was tugging through another knot like she was on a battlefield. Her face was pure focus, like a knight about to duel a dragon.
"Pain is temporary. Nobles are forever," Lina muttered.
"That sounds fake," Jenna muttered back.
"It is," Lina said.
"But still," Jenna groaned, shooting a look at the full-length mirror.
The reflection staring back? A five-year-old girl in a ridiculously fluffy blue dress. Velvet ribbons. Cloud-shaped embroidery. The works.
"This isn't even my favorite dress. This one makes me itchy. Like, cursed itchy."
"You're not being dressed for comfort, my lady,"
Lina said as she yanked the back ribbon tight enough to launch Jenna into space. "You're being dressed for optics.
The Grand Duke's family is returning today.
That means your father, your siblings, and—"
"Yeah, yeah," Jenna sighed. "The important scary people who all look like they were born knowing how to scowl in three languages."
Lina paused mid-brush and smirked a little.
"That's... not entirely wrong."
Then she crouched down until they were eye-level.
Her voice dropped to that serious-soft mode—the tone Jenna knew meant grown-up rules were loading.
"You must not jump on them this time. Please."
Jenna blinked.
"Even Irian?"
"Especially Irian. He might be wearing medals."
Jenna froze. A look of pure horror on her face.
"Did he… did he become a statue?!"
"No. But he might be very sparkly and dignified now."
Jenna's eyes narrowed. "So he's hiding something."
Lina pinched the bridge of her nose. "No tackling. No biting your sisters. No hiding under tables. I don't care if they call you a Crybaby again."
Jenna's pout returned like a summoned spell.
"They started it. And it wasn't even a real bite. It was... respectful."
Lina leaned in, touched her forehead to Jenna's.
"I know, baby cub. But today, we survive the nobles. Okay?"
"…Okay."
But Jenna crossed her arms and muttered under her breath, "I make no promises."
"Will they still look at me the same? "Did they miss me... or just remember me today?"
The walk from her room to the east reception hall felt like a full royal pilgrimage.
Not because of the distance, although, to be fair, the Grand Duke's estate was so big you needed directions to find the right bathroom.
But today, every hallway was lined with movement.
Servants zipped by with trays stacked like towers.
Maids sprinted down halls with extra ribbons and panicked eyes.
One pastry chef balanced a whole cream cake on her head like it was normal.
"Morning, Lady Jenna!" she chirped.
"You look noble today, little miss," winked a window-washing butler outside the building.
Jenna waved to them all like a mini empress, but inside?
She was mourning The Circle.
The Circle was her secret adventure route.
It started in her room, slipped through the third-floor piano hall, zipped through the pantry, looped across the indoor garden, and ended at the Big Window Balcony—where she could spy on people arriving and make up dramatic backstories with her spyglass.
But not today.
Lina had banned it.
"Too many important boots," she'd said.
So instead, Jenna was stuck walking down the Grand Stairway Hall—the dullest path in the estate. Zero hiding spots. No trapdoors. Infinite eyeballs. Gross.
Every step echoed like a countdown. Like the floor was snitching on her heartbeat.
"Lina said she looked regal. But her dress felt like armor."
She walked like a princess. But felt like a stowaway pretending to belong.
She glared at a footman polishing a table leg behind a curtain.
Suspicious.
"I liked it better when it was just me, Lina, the dust, and Grandma's empty chair."
By the time they reached the East Reception Hall, even the air was trembling.
Everything smelled like lavender, polished wood, and... anxiety.
Guards stood in perfect rows, decked out in the Grand Duke's navy-blue uniforms.
Servants floated around like ghosts trained in etiquette.
Someone was adjusting a curtain with tongs.
Jenna held Lina's hand tighter.
She was small, yes. But she wasn't dumb.
Her father—the Grand Duke Marek Veldrin Skywhisper—had left for the Imperial Capital weeks ago. A gathering of nobles. Fancy council things. Grown-up nonsense.
And with him?
Her siblings.
Irian. Ten years old. Hero boy. Medal collector. Walked like destiny.
Then the twins.
Aria— The first born. sister Nine-year-old, Four feet six inches of perfection and judgment.
Zara— The second born. sister also Nine-year-old, Smiled with her mouth, but never with her eyes.
They were back.
And the front gates were already creaking open.
Carriages pulling up like monsters from a storybook. Horses snorting like royalty.
Banners flapping. Footsteps echoing.
Jenna stood there.
In her cloud-embroidered dress.
Hair pulled. Ribbons tight. Heart ready.
The Skywhispers were coming home. And the castle? It held its breath.
Just then, a soldier by the eastern watchtower leaned out over the balcony, his voice cutting through the lavender-scented air—
"They've reached the Gate of Argenthal! The Grand Duke returns from the Imperial Kingdom!"
TO BE CONTINUED...