Lucy
How to Survive Social Chaos: pretend you understand the plot while everyone else falls in love.
Rhea’s house sat tucked between a quiet bakery and a cobbler’s workshop, its chimney puffing out warm-smelling smoke carrying hints of bread and herbs.
A carved wooden sign was nailed above the door: The Sparrow’s Crumb.
Lucy wanted to kiss it.
Not because she loved bread, but because it represented the one thing she craved most in the world.
A separate room.
A room not shared with Basil’s dramatic sighing or the Baroness’s sleep-whimpering.
She could almost cry, but her tears were precious tactical tools and needed to be deployed sparingly.
Rhea opened the front door before they could knock. “Welcome. I set up rooms for all of you.”
“Bless the moon, the sun, the old gods, the new gods, the questionable ones in Basil’s herb drawers—I don’t care which one—thank someone.”
Rhea blinked. “That’s… a lot of deities.”
“Why do you know what is in my herb drawer?” Basil demanded.
“I’m leaving my gratitude options open,” Lucy said reverently, sweeping past him.
They stepped inside. The home was small and cozy in a way that felt earned, not curated. It smelled like warm dough, cracked pepper, and the citrus oil Rhea used to polish the counters. A little fireplace crackled quietly in the corner, and Lucy clocked the absence of wards immediately.
Not unprotected. Just… trusted.
Sylva relaxed the moment they stepped inside. Not visibly. Just… in the small ways Lucy was beginning to recognize. Like his body had decided this place didn’t require him to be on high alert.
Dinner consisted of hearty bread, a thin vegetable stew, and a single roasted chicken, clearly stretched to feed too many people.
Frugal. Careful. Kind.
Lucy devoured it like it was a royal feast.
“So,” she said, leaning forward over her bowl with predatory intent, “tell me more about Basil’s lore.”
Basil groaned on instinct. “No.”
Rhea chuckled into her cup. “He was always like this. Grumpy. Hardworking. Fussy about his boots.”
“I am not fussy.”
“He once returned an entire set of military boots because the stitching was wrong,” Asher added from the kitchen doorway.
“It was wrong,” Basil snapped.
Lucy slapped the table with delight. “This is gold.”
The Baroness cleared her throat delicately. “Rhea, dear, if you don’t mind me asking…” She folded her hands. “Why did you give up being a countess? And Basil? It seems… quite the sacrifice.”
Rhea’s smile softened. Not sad, but resolved.
“For love,” she said simply. “I wanted Asher. Basil made sure I could leave without harming my family’s reputation.”
