Cassian stepped forward, careful to tread softly on the gravel. His father straightened, brushed dirt from his hands, and regarded him with assessing eyes. There was an intensity in his look, one that always reminded Cassian of the weight that came with being the son of a duke.
“Do you see this young tree?” his father asked, gesturing to a slender sapling that leaned slightly. “It is not yet strong enough to stand on its own. It requires support, guidance, and sometimes a firm hand to keep it upright while it grows. Neglect it, or allow it to bend unchecked, and it will never reach its potential.”
Cassian nodded. He had heard advice like this before. He was always learning something. His father’s principles were strong, and Cassian reasoned that that was why he was so well-liked.
“And how do you know when it is ready to stand alone?” Cassian asked, curiosity edging his tone.
He knew what his father was trying to teach him. They had argued the night prior, for Cassian was growing impatient that he was not trusted to do anything to prepare for his role. He thought himself ready, but his father refuted such a claim.
His father was now trying to explain his reasoning, and though Cassian knew he would disagree, he liked to humor him.
“You learn by observing,” he said. “You help it to grow, note its strengths, its flaws, the way it reacts to sun and storms alike. Youdo not rush it. You guide it, and then, one day, the tree will be given a chance to prove itself.”
“But why not now?”
“Because this way proves your patience, Cassian,” his father answered, straightening fully. “And patience is a trait that all dukes must have. One day, people will test you far more than your mother and I ever could, and the strength to act properly, at the right moment, is not always obvious, but it is required.”
Cassian felt the weight of those words. He had grown up in the shadow of his father’s reputation. To be his heir meant more than inheriting estates. It meant inheriting responsibility for the lives of tenants and servants, and the broader influence of such an esteemed title.
“But is firmness always necessary?” Cassian asked, tilting his head as he played into the analogy. “Could there not be risk? Could you not allow room for failure?”
His father’s gaze sharpened, but there was no anger, only the unwavering certainty that had always defined him.
“Rules are there for a reason. Without them, the estate, the people, the title—none of it endures. Remember this, Cassian. To lead is to bear burdens, and to bear them, you must act when it is easiest to hesitate.”
Cassian absorbed the lesson silently, feeling it settle in his bones. He had always admired his father for the way he moved through the world, commanding without cruelty, guiding without arrogance. There was a dignity about him, a quiet authority that demanded respect even if he was a young man determined to challenge it. There was also humanity, a rare combination that made him not just a duke, but also someone worthy of admiration. Someone Cassian aspired to become.
They walked slowly along the path, father and son. Cassian knew, even then, that every word was about preparation—for life, for leadership, and for the challenges that could not be anticipated.
“You must not remain idle when guidance is required,” his father said, plucking a weed and discarding it. “The cost of inaction is often greater than the risk of decision. And once lost, some things simply cannot be replaced.”
Cassian nodded again, though the weight of that statement lingered in his mind. Every instruction, every lesson in the garden was a rehearsal for the role he would one day inherit.
He looked at his father then, seeing him not just as a parent. There was an elegance in his authority, tempered with care and fairness, and it was the sort of strength that Cassian wanted to one day possess. Not for power or pride, but because it was right.
“Do you think,” he asked hesitantly, “that one day I will be able to act with the same certainty as you?”
His father studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed, before briefly placing a hand on Cassian’s shoulder.
“Perhaps,” he said. “And it is vital that you do, but it will only happen if you learn to observe, and to act even when fear or doubt gnaws at you. Certainty does not come from confidence alone. It comes from knowledge, preparation, and the willingness to face consequences, whatever they may be.”
For the rest of the morning, they moved among the trees in silence. Cassian watched his father work, noting how methodical and exact he was, how even small tasks were carried out with precision and care.
There was a dignity in routine, a quiet power in the way his father commanded attention without demanding it, taught lessons without scolding, and prepared his heir through example rather than mere instruction.
Cassian wished he were a better son, for he knew how rebellious and difficult he could be. He never meant to be, but he was a boy with a desire to be in charge, and all he was met with was a seemingly endless wait.
Night fell quietly over the estate. He was preparing for bed, thinking about what his father had told him. He would be a good duke one day, but only if he continued to learn. He had the time to do so, but that bothered him too. He wanted everything to happen quickly, so that he could at last feel useful.
The smell struck him like a physical blow. It was smoke, and he opened his door to see it filling the corridors.
He froze, his heart hammering against his ribs, his ears straining for sound beyond the low hiss of flames. The house felt impossibly still, almost holding its breath, and yet the smell alone carried the weight of danger.
“Fire!” he called out as loudly as he could, and ran toward the servants’ quarters.
He was certain that his family had escaped, but the servants must still be asleep, and he could not let any harm come to them.
The entirety of the west wing was aflame, the fire consuming carpets, drapes, and portraits. It blocked access to his parents’ bedroom, but he knew they would be safe. His father would make sure of that.
