Tick.
Her ears perked at the sound. Faint, almost imperceptible.
Vivienne lay still, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her.
Tick.
A small but deliberate sound against the windowpane.
She threw back the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the wooden floor. A pebble struck the glass as she unlatched and pulled open the window. A final stone zipped past her, landing with a soft skitter beneath the bed frame.
He hasn't thrown pebbles at my window in years."Lewis?" she called, squinting down at the familiar figure standing in the street below.
"Blume Concierge Wake-Up Calls, at your service," he announced, sketching an exaggerated bow. “You can’t be too grumpy with me. I let you sleep in until almost noon, and Ididn’tknock.”
She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't deny the small twinge of appreciation. Lewis knew her well. Unlike her parents, who had always preferred to wake her with loud knocking, he understood subtlety was the better option.
"Come on,” he beckoned, waving her forward. "The Chancellor's office awaits."
Vivienne sighed and pulled on a simple purple linen dress, tying the tan bodice as she padded down the stairs. She stilled when she reached the kitchen. A small scrap of parchment sat next to the breadbasket, the slanted handwriting unmistakable.Mind your figure.Her mother’s words.
Vivienne’s jaw tightened. Her fingers floated over the note for a heartbeat longer than necessary. A new thought took root in her mind.What if this is one of the last things she ever wrote to me?The realization twisted something sharp and ugly in her stomach. But this? This wasn’t a note she wanted to keep. She crumpled the parchment in her fist and tossed it into the cold hearth before grabbing a thick slice of bread.
Outside, Lewis was waiting. "Is that your breakfast?" he asked, pointing to the piece of bread clenched between her teeth as she quickly braided her hair.
Vivienne shot him a knowing glare. He grinned, knowing full well she couldn't answer without dropping the slice.
She tugged the braid tight and pulled the bread from her mouth. "Not all of us have unlimited pastries in our satchels."
"Not unlimited," he corrected. "Strategic."
She narrowed her eyes. "Speaking of which, the pastry you gave me last night… how long had it been in your satchel?"
Lewis gave her a sidelong glance. "Trust me when I say… youdo notwant me to answer that."
Vivienne’s face twisted in disgust, but a laugh escaped anyway. For a moment, things almost felt normal. Almost.
Lewis smiled, but the look in his eyes was softer, careful. "You seem… a little better today,” he noted, studying her expression.
Vivienne inhaled slowly, holding her breath for a second before letting it out. "I'm not sure 'better' can be measured."
She clenched her jaw. If she let herself feel everything now, if she let the weight of her parents’ absence fully settle, she wouldn’t be able to move forward. And she had to move forward. Her parents had spent years teaching her the importance of being measured, methodical. Vivienne’s instincts had always leaned towardact now, think later. Today, she had to make an exception.Stay focused.
She squared her shoulders and glanced at Lewis. "We're walking toward the water. Shouldn’t we be going up to the castle?"
"Nope," Lewis said, pointing toward the city center. "The Chancellor keeps an office by the Market Square. To be 'one with the people.'" He made sarcastic air quotes, rolling his eyes.
As they walked further downhill, the city buzzed with its usual energy. The Market Square was alive with preparations for the Harvest Moon Festival. Ribbons and sheaves of wheat had been tied along the procession route, carts trundled toward the beaches carrying stacks of wood for the bonfires, and the long banquet tables had already been set in their usual places, waiting for the grand feast. Vivienne tried to take it all in, but her thoughts felt stretched, pulled tight between the present and the unknown.
Instead of moving into the square, Lewis veered down a narrow side street, too tight for wagons or carts. Halfway down, a bulky wooden sign hung perpendicular to the building, the golden letters gleaming in the midday sun. Lewis reached for the handle, and the green door squealed in protest as they stepped inside.
4
Vivienne had no idea why she’d expected the Chancellor’s office to be anything like Johanna’s warm and inviting bakery.
This space was the opposite.
The room felt cramped despite its high ceilings, the weight of self-importance pressing in from all sides. Overstuffed bookshelves loomed, crammed with thick tomes, their haphazard stacks threatening to collapse. Whatever walls remained visible were covered with heavy, blood-red curtains absorbing what little light the candles provided. The air carried the faint scent of wax and something acrid, like ink left too long to dry.
