The Reverie of a Mother

The gardens of House Eisenwald were meticulously arranged, their hedges trimmed into stern geometry and the flowerbeds precise as military formations. Compared to the blooming wildness of Edelhardt's grounds, it felt more like a display of control than of beauty. The spring gathering had filled these paths with nobles sipping wine and speaking in clipped, elegant tones, each smile weighed and measured.

Liora kept to the edge of it all, watching the children play from a distance as she stood beside Annalise beneath a gazebo draped in lavender silk. A string quartet played in the distance, their melody floating like glass through the air.

"I don't like it here," Annalise murmured, eyes flicking from group to group. "Everything smells like perfume and secrets."

Liora gave a faint smile. "Stay close to your brothers."

"Mathilde ran off with Elias. Said something about 'rescuing the prince from the flower dragon.'" Annalise rolled her eyes but there was fondness in the gesture. "Should I go after them?"

"I'll check," Liora said quickly. Something in her chest tugged. Mathilde's sense of mischief often blurred the line between adventure and chaos.

She moved down the gravel path, nodding politely at passing guests, but her attention sharpened as she stepped past the rose arch and toward the quieter courtyard behind the greenhouse.

Then she heard it.

A sharp cry. A scuffle. Gravel scattering beneath small shoes.

"Don't touch him again!"

Mathilde's voice, high, fierce, and trembling with rage.

Liora rushed forward, heart seizing.

There, near the edge of the hedgerow, stood Mathilde with her fists clenched and her braid swinging like a whip. In front of her, a pale-haired noble boy sat on the ground, stunned, with Elias huddled behind Mathilde's skirts. The boy looked to be about ten, a few years older than Mathilde, with a bloody scrape on his hand and fury tightening his lips.

"You witch!" he spat. "You pushed me!"

Mathilde raised her chin. "You said Elias was a freak. That he looked like a rat and shouldn't be here. You said he stank like a gutter!"

Elias peeked from behind her, eyes wide and glassy.

"I didn't hit you," the boy snarled. "You threw me down!"

"And you hit me!" Mathilde shot back. She pointed to her forehead and wobbled her lower lip. "I have a bobo now."

Liora froze at the edge of the scene.

"Mathilde?" she said softly, stepping into the clearing.

At once, Mathilde turned, eyes welling with huge, watery tears. "He hit me, Liora! I was just trying to help Elias and he hit me here—" She jabbed her finger against her smooth brow. "It hurts a lot."

The noble boy scrambled up. "She's lying! She attacked me!"

"Liar!" Mathilde yelled. "You said you'd toss Elias in the pond if he followed you again!"

"Enough!" Liora moved between them and knelt before Mathilde. She gently took the girl's face in her hands. "Let me see, sweet one."

Mathilde sniffled, dramatically, but when Liora brushed her hair back, there was no swelling. No redness. No sign of a hit.

"Where does it hurt?" Liora asked gently.

"Here," Mathilde said, pointing vaguely. "It's gone inside now."

Before Liora could respond, another voice broke the tension.

"What is going on here?"

A woman swept into the courtyard, her gown stiff with gold brocade and a pinched scowl blooming across her rouged face. "Frederic! Your sleeve! Your hand—what has happened?"

The boy—Frederic—ran to her. "She attacked me, Mother! That one!" He pointed at Mathilde. "She shoved me over and tried to stomp on my head!"

"I did not!" Mathilde shrieked. "He was mean! He said Elias was dirty and shouldn't be here and then he pushed him!"

The woman's gaze turned ice cold. "How dare you accuse my son of such behavior?"

Footsteps thundered behind them, and then: "Who touched my sister?"

Leopold barreled into view, hair disheveled, fury twisting his young face.

"He did! That boy pushed Elias and made Mathilde cry!"

"Frederic!" the noblewoman gasped, holding her son back as Leopold advanced.

"I won't let anyone hurt her!" Leopold roared. "You're lying, and you hit her!"

"I didn't touch her!" Frederic cried.

Annalise appeared next, panting, her skirt hiked up slightly as she ran.

"What in the saints' name is happening now?"

Michael followed her, stepping with less speed but eyes sharp as flint. He took in the scene—Elias trembling, Mathilde's watery stare, Leopold's balled fists—and the noble boy with dust on his velvet.

He said nothing at first.

Mathilde's gaze lifted to Michael.

For a brief moment, brother and sister locked eyes.

Then Mathilde looked away.

That flicker—that silence—did not escape Michael.

The noblewoman turned to Liora, chin raised. "If your girl is not punished, I will have to bring this to the High Council. My son is bruised and—"

"And my sister says she was struck," Michael interrupted, voice cool and measured.

"There's no mark," the noblewoman snapped. "If she lies, should we not treat her as a liar?"

Leopold bristled. "She's not a liar! He's lying!"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps we ought to punish them both equally. A day without supper. A strike to the hand. Let them learn humility."

Michael stepped forward.

His expression remained calm, but something shifted in his posture, like a blade slowly unsheathed.

"If you believe your boy should be punished, then by all means," he said. "But do not speak of striking my sister in this house."

The noblewoman stiffened.

Michael tilted his head. "Unless you're implying your name carries more weight than ours in House Eisenwald's garden?"

There was no aggression in his tone, but the precision cut deeper than any shout.

The woman paled.

"I—of course not," she murmured. "I didn't mean—"

"Then this incident ends here," Michael said. "Your son will stay away from my sister. From all of them."

Frederic opened his mouth. "That's not fair—!"

"Enough," his mother snapped, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "We will speak of this at home."

The group watched her turn and lead the boy away, his protests cut off with a hissed whisper.

For a long moment, silence stretched between the Edelhardt children.

Then Liora slowly stood. She looked at Michael, his jaw taut, his eyes still watching the path where the noblewoman had vanished.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Michael didn't look at her.

And from the corner of her eye, Liora saw Mathilde still avoiding his gaze

The walk back to their guest chambers in House Eisenwald was quiet, too quiet. Even Mathilde, who normally would have launched into a theatrical retelling of her bravery, said nothing. She held Elias's hand tightly, her eyes on the floor. Elias, for his part, stayed close to her side, his usual questions tucked behind a small, shaken silence.

Liora walked behind them, eyes fixed ahead but mind still racing.

Michael hadn't said a word since they'd left the garden.

Neither had Leopold, though his fists remained clenched at his sides like he was still ready for battle.

Annalise kept shooting glances between them all, lips pressed together, as if trying to swallow a dozen unsaid thoughts.

Only when the heavy doors to their chambers shut behind them did the stillness snap.

"You lied," Michael said.

The words came out like flint on stone.

Mathilde froze in the middle of the room. She turned, slowly. "What?"

Michael stepped forward. Not shouting. Not stern. Just… quiet. Measured.

"You lied, Mathilde. You told Liora you were hurt. You weren't."

Her lip trembled. "He deserved it. He was awful to Elias!"

"That's not the point," Michael said. "You pretended to be hit. You tried to turn everyone against him. You made a scene."

"I was protecting Elias!" she snapped.

"But you lied," he said again.

Now Mathilde's cheeks flushed with heat. "Why does it matter? He was a mean, stupid boy and I wanted him to get in trouble! Why do you always—"

"Because it's not who we are," Michael cut in, sharp but controlled. "It's not who you are."

"Maybe you don't know who I am," she shot back, blinking fast. "Maybe you only know what you want me to be."

The words landed like a slap in the room.

Elias shrank behind her slightly, looking up at her with worry.

Liora stepped forward. "Mathilde…"

But Mathilde turned sharply, brushing past her. "I'm not talking about this."

She ran into the adjoining chamber and slammed the door shut behind her. A beat later, the sound of the lock clicking into place followed.

Leopold exhaled through his nose. "Well, that went brilliantly."

Michael didn't respond. He stood still, eyes fixed on the door Mathilde had vanished behind. His jaw worked once, then stilled.

"Michael," Liora said gently, "she's young. She panicked."

"She manipulated the situation," he said, turning toward her. "She's eight, and she already knows how to twist truth to gain power. That's not panic. That's calculation."

"That's fear," Liora said quietly. "She was trying to protect her brother."

"And when do we draw the line?" Michael asked, his voice harder than before. "When she lies to protect herself? When she frames someone worse next time?"

Leopold groaned. "You sound like Hadrian."

Michael froze.

The name dropped between them like a falling brick.

Liora didn't speak. She simply walked to Elias, who had sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes flicking nervously to each sibling. She kneeled and smoothed his hair.

"Are you alright, little star?"

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. "I was scared. But Mathilde was brave."

"She was," Liora said, offering him a soft smile. "And you were too."

Annalise folded her arms. "Maybe we all need to stop shouting at each other."

"We're not shouting," Michael muttered, but his voice had lost some of its edge.

Annalise rolled her eyes. "You're fuming like a storm cloud."

No one laughed.

Michael finally sat down, rubbing his hands over his face. "She avoided my eyes."

"What?"

"When I looked at her, after it happened, she couldn't meet my gaze," he said. "She's never done that before."

"She's ashamed," Liora said. "That doesn't mean she doesn't care."

"I just—" Michael sighed. "I don't want her to become someone who hides behind lies. I don't want her to become like—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Like Hadrian.

They all heard it anyway.

A long silence followed.

Then Liora rose and crossed the room to him.

She placed her hand gently on his shoulder.

"She won't become that," she said. "Not while she has us."

His gaze lifted to her. And for a moment, there was something unreadable there, regret, maybe. Or fear.

Then he nodded once and stood.

"I need air."

He walked out without another word, and the door whispered shut behind him.

Leopold slumped onto the couch beside Elias. "Can we go home now?"

"I want to sleep forever," Annalise muttered.

"Me too," said Elias.

Liora gathered them all to her, folding into the warmth of her little flock as the soft hum of House Eisenwald echoed outside. She cast one last glance toward Mathilde's door.

Behind it, she imagined, a small girl sat curled under a blanket—angry, confused, and deeply uncertain whether what she did had been brave or wrong.

And outside the guest wing, in the torch-lit halls, Michael walked alone.