The room prepared for her was on the second floor, facing the South Garden. The soft western light filled a space of pale red and white, giving it a gentle, almost charming warmth.
The canopy bed, draped in satin lace embroidered with tiny flowers and butterflies, stood like something from a princess's chamber. A claw-foot dresser gleamed under the sunlight, completing the picture.
It was easy to imagine that foreign dignitaries—young ladies or refined madams—usually stayed in this room.
After asking the servants to leave her alone, she sank into the sofa.
Her luggage lay neatly arranged, but her mind was far from still. She needed a moment to think.
What did I do wrong during the greeting earlier? Why did Grandmother look so displeased?
Was my posture too stiff from the long carriage ride... or did I move my skirt awkwardly?
No matter how she replayed it, she couldn't find an answer.
And why can't I call them Grandfather and Grandmother?
Am I still not part of the family?
A quiet unease settled over her.
Then another thought surfaced. Why was I given a room on this floor alone?
Her brothers had rooms upstairs. She had excused it earlier by saying her legs were tired from travel—and truly, a closer room was convenient—but being the only one here left a faint, lonely ache in her chest.
The last time she came to this territory, she had been only two years old.
Her memories were faint, but she recalled sleeping beside her mother, hand in hand. That must have been on this same floor.
She tried to reason through it.
Why? How come? But finding answers to questions like that was never easy.
When Grandfather and Grandmother visited the mansion in the Imperial Capital, they had never treated her coldly. Grandmother had always been strict, yes, but never cruel or unreasonable.
At some point, she began to wonder if their distance came only from blood.
Then she remembered something Mother once said:
"Don't ever use words like 'whatever' or 'someone like me.' They only hurt you."
Her birth couldn't be changed, and she bore no shame in it. She loved the family who loved her.
And Grandmother wasn't the sort to act without purpose. If she had done this, there must be a reason.
That thought calmed her a little.
Outside the window, the clouds of twilight drifted gently across the sky.