How Do You Do, Sire?

The garden was bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, the air rich with the scent of blooming lilies and damp earth. I walked along the stone path, absentmindedly brushing my fingers over the petals of the nearest flowers when I caught sight of him.

My father. The duke.

He strode past with the same unreadable expression he always wore, his posture perfect, his steps measured. For a moment, I hesitated, but then I called out.

"Father."

He slowed but didn't stop. I quickened my pace and fell into step beside him.

"How was your day?" I asked, forcing casualness into my tone.

He glanced at me, his sharp eyes unreadable. "Busy."

That was it. Just one word.

I waited, hoping for more, but the silence stretched between us.

"Ah," I muttered, trying not to let my disappointment show.

He inclined his head slightly, then continued walking, leaving me standing amidst the flowers, the wind rustling through the trees. I let out a quiet sigh, wrapping my arms around myself as I stayed behind in the garden.

I should've expected this. Yet, even knowing how he was, I couldn't shake the lingering frustration.

Even after he disappeared down the garden path, leaving me standing alone, I remained there, unmoving, staring at the space he once occupied.

How was I supposed to mend something that had never been whole to begin with?

The days passed in the same frustrating rhythm. I found myself in the garden more often than before, lingering, waiting, hoping I would catch him again. But each time, I was left disappointed.

Today was no different. I sat beneath the shade of a tree, eyes drifting to the stone pathway that wound through the estate grounds. Servants walked by, knights patrolled their usual routes, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I sighed.

With nothing else to do, I wandered toward the greenhouse.

Inside, the warm scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers enveloped me. A large, cushioned sofa sat near the windows, its placement inviting anyone seeking rest. Without hesitation, I sank onto it, stretching out until the soft fabric cradled me completely.

Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling, casting a golden glow. I lifted my hand toward it, spreading my fingers apart as if I could grasp the warmth between them. My other hand rested on my chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of my breaths.

The breeze that slipped through the open doors was gentle against my skin, playing with the loose strands of my hair. It was peaceful here, tranquil.

But peace wasn't what I truly sought.

Weeks passed, and I didn't see him again. Not in the garden. Not in the hallways. Nowhere.

If he wasn't going to come to me, then I would go to him.

That morning, I made my way to his office with purposeful steps.

A knight stood in front of the heavy wooden doors, his stance rigid, his face blank with the discipline of someone used to long hours of silence. He acknowledged me with a brief glance before bowing slightly.

Before he could even ask, I spoke. "I'm here to meet my father."

He hesitated only for a moment before responding, "Please wait a moment, my lady."

Turning sharply, he knocked once on the door before slipping inside. The door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the dimly lit corridor.

I exhaled, my fingers absently smoothing over the fabric of my sleeves as I waited. It wasn't nerves that made me fidget. It was something else.

Anticipation, perhaps.

The door opened again, and the knight stepped aside, holding it open for me. I didn't hesitate as I crossed the threshold, letting the door shut softly behind me.

The study was lined with towering bookshelves, filled with neatly stacked records, reports, and ledgers. The scent of parchment and ink lingered in the air, blending with the faint aroma of polished wood. The curtains were slightly drawn back, allowing soft light to spill in, illuminating the intricate carvings on the heavy wooden desk where my father sat.

He was already absorbed in his work, quill in hand, his sharp gaze scanning the documents in front of him. Across the room stood Sir Logan, his ever-present aide. As always, the man was a silent observer, standing near a small table stacked with more papers.

Neither of them acknowledged my presence immediately.

I stepped further inside, my voice cutting through the quiet.

"I'm going to watch you work," I announced with no prior greeting, walking over to a nearby chair and sinking into it.

If my father found my presence a nuisance, he didn't show it. His quill never paused, his eyes never lifted. The only indication that he had heard me was the slight tensing of his fingers against the parchment before he continued writing.

Sir Logan, on the other hand, flicked his gaze toward me briefly before returning to his own task.

Fine. If that's how it was going to be, then so be it.

I folded my hands in my lap and leaned back slightly, watching.

If he wasn't going to acknowledge me, then I would simply stay until he did.

I had already waited weeks.

A little longer wouldn't make a difference.

Many moments later, my father spoke without looking up. "Is there a reason?"

For a moment, I was confused, almost forgetting why I had come here in the first place. This was exactly why I disliked being around people—I got distracted too easily, unsettled even. But I had to push through. This wasn't just about today; it was about securing my place here, about shaping my future.

"No," I said simply, resting my chin in my hand. "I'm just curious. You're always busy, so I figured I'd see for myself what keeps you so occupied."

His quill didn't pause.

I leaned back, drumming my fingers against the armrest. "What have you been working on, father?" I asked, my voice lighter than I felt.

There it was. That word again. Father.

For a brief moment, I caught something in his gaze—a flicker of something unspoken, something I couldn't quite name.

Oho. So he reacts to being called that—Father.

"Just some issues in the fief. And work in the palace," he replied, voice steady.

"Just?" I echoed, raising an eyebrow. "You were too busy to visit me for weeks, and it's just some issues?"

He didn't falter. "That's how it is."

His answer was as curt as ever.

I exhaled through my nose, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the knight outside the study probably found this scene pitiful.

I set my hands on my lap and tilted my head. "Father," I said, this time more deliberately. His gaze flicked to me again, guarded.

"Do you always talk like this?"

His brow furrowed slightly. "Like what?"

"As if you're counting your words. Do you have a set number you're allowed to use each day?"

Sir Logan choked on a cough, covering it with his fist.

My father, however, merely blinked at me. "Whatever do you mean?"

I huffed. "You should start thinking about it."

Silence stretched again, but this time, I had no intention of letting it win.

I shifted in my seat, then asked, "How did you and mother even end up together if you were like this? Did you two even talk?"

Something changed in his expression. Subtle. Fleeting. But I caught it.

"Your mother…" His voice softened, the weight of old memories settling in his tone. "I thought you'd never mention her."

"Why wouldn't I?"

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the quill.

I pressed further. "The servants say she was lively. Warm. The kind of person who could fill a room with laughter. I can't help but wonder—how did someone like her end up with someone like you?"

Sir Logan let out a barely audible exhale, as if he too had wondered the same thing.

My father set his quill down, his hand hovering over the parchment for a second too long. Then he leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

"I was told of your memory loss," he said finally. "So, it was like this…"

The way he trailed off, the slight hesitation in his voice—it confirmed what I had long suspected.

I narrowed my eyes. "I know that mother is no longer with us."

His fingers curled slightly. "Ever since you were a child, you were teased by the other children…" He let the words hang, as if debating whether to continue.

I pieced it together before he could. "They blamed me for her death, didn't they?"

He didn't confirm it outright, but his silence was answer enough.

I inhaled slowly. The weight of it settled over me, but it didn't crush me. Maybe it would have if I had actually grown up here. But I wasn't Aerin. Not completely.

Instead, I studied him. The slight tension in his jaw, the way his gaze had darkened—not in anger, but something else. Something raw.

So, he does feel. He just doesn't know how to show it.

The realization settled over me, something close to understanding forming in my chest.

I straightened in my seat, then reached across the desk, resting my hand gently over his.

"Father," I said, this time with quiet resolve. "This time is different."

His eyes flicked to mine, something unreadable in their depths.

I wasn't just saying it for his sake.

I was saying it for mine.