As I stepped into the dining room, the low murmur of conversation greeted me. My two older brothers were already seated, deep in discussion. Theo, the eldest, sat straight-backed and composed, his serious expression as familiar as the family crest. With his sharp features and calcuting eyes, he was a mirror image of Father—both in looks and in presence.

  Across from him lounged Trev, the second-born, all rexed limbs and easy grins. His carefree demeanor was a world apart from Theo’s, but it somehow banced the room rather than cshing with it. They couldn’t have been more different, yet they got along with the kind of seamless ease only a two-year bond could forge.

  At seventeen, Theo carried the weight of his future with quiet determination. Trev, fifteen, will start attending the Royal Academy, still had that spark of mischief in his eyes—like he hadn’t yet decided whether to charm the world or turn it on its head.

  Both of my brothers share a deep passion for swordsmanship and martial arts. They’re currently training under the same master who once mentored our father. Come the second week of spring, they’ll journey to the mountains to further hone their skills under his watchful eye, staying there until the third week of summer.

  Their teacher is a renowned sword master—powerful, enigmatic, and fiercely reclusive. Known for his eccentric nature, he lives in complete isotion, far removed from the rest of the world, like a true hermit.

  As I approached the dining table, their conversation came to a sudden halt. "The yellow frog came early today," Trev remarked with a ugh, clearly amused by his joke. "Stop that, Trev. You'll make her cry," Theo cut in, shaking his head with a smirk.

  I shot them both with an annoyed gre. "If I'm a yellow frog, then you're a red frog," I said, pointing at Trev, "and you're a bck frog," I added, pointing at Theo. "And for your information, the brighter the frog, the more poisonous it is."

  With that, I lunged at Trev, aiming to pyfully bite his arm. "Hey! What are you doing? Stop it, you monster frog!" Trev yelped, trying to dodge me. But I was quicker.

  Just as I was about to sink my teeth into his arm, the dining room door opened—and in walked both of our parents.

  I let go of Trev’s arms, and he yelped like I’d sunk my teeth in, colpsing into his chair with the fir of a telenove star mid-breakdown.

  “Oh, stop overreacting, Trev,” I said, rolling my eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

  “Rowdy and noisy already? Tone it down a little, kids,” my mother said with a warm smile as she walked over, pnting a kiss on each of our cheeks. “Good morning, my angels. I take it you all slept well—you’re certainly full of energy.”

  “Angels? More like little imps,” my father muttered as he entered the room, only half-joking. “Theo, as the eldest, try to keep your siblings in check,” he added, giving him a pointed look.

  Theo simply shrugged. “There’s not much I can do about Nia, Father. She’s been acting less and less like a noble-born young dy tely.”

  My father gnced at me as he helped my mother into her seat. Sigh. “I have to agree. I wonder who she gets that from...” he said, casting a knowing look at my mother.

  She, of course, pretended not to hear him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, flipping my hair with dramatic fir. “Aunt Regine says my etiquette is fwless, thank you very much! And besides—I’m the cutest, so clearly, I’m excused.” I lifted my chin like the noble little queen I was.

  “Incorrect,” Theo deadpanned. “It’s Duchess Bourdelle, not Aunt Regine, if you’re actually trying to follow proper etiquette.”

  Trev waved him off. “Whatever. I think it’s fine. I mean—come on, etiquette? For a frog?” He cackled like it was the best joke in the world.

  “You—! I swear, one of these days—!” I lunged toward him, fingers curled like cws.

  “Now, now, my precious little frogs,” our mother cooed sweetly, barely hiding her amusement. “All of you are equally chaotic—and equally adorable.”

  My father sighed a little more, giving his head a shake before taking his seat at the head of the table.

  The moment he sat down, Stefan—our aging but ever-capable butler—gave a subtle signal to the servants. In response, they moved swiftly and gracefully, pcing our breakfast on the table with practiced precision.

  I opted for a simple bowl of vegetable soup, a tiny slice of fish meat, and a piece of bread, while the rest of my family gravitated toward the heartier meats, needing the extra energy to keep up with their demanding morning schedules.

  As always, my father carefully sliced my mother’s meat and pced it gently on her pte. In return, she pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek—soft and fleeting, yet filled with affection. Their morning dispy of passionate connection is so natural and understated, and has long since become a part of the rhythm of our household. We had all grown used to it, but never tired of it.

  I’m truly grateful that the man I now call Father is both a devoted husband and a gentle, yet firm, parent. He carries himself with quiet authority, his presence more commanding than loud words could ever be. With every decision, every word of advice, he leads with integrity. His discipline is measured, his expectations clear, and his love—though rarely spoken aloud—can be found in the little things: the way he steadies a shoulder with a hand, listens without interrupting, or simply shows up without being asked.

  To my older brothers, he is more than a parent—he is the blueprint for the kind of men they hope to become. He doesn’t need to preach values; he lives them. He treats my mother with unwavering respect and unconditional love, honoring her presence like something sacred, and he shoulders the weight of responsibility with quiet pride.

  And yet, it is my mother who anchors the very soul of our home.

  While Father is composed, methodical, and stoic, my mother is warmth wrapped in serenity. She possesses a softness that comforts, but never diminishes her strength. Her demeanor is gentle but unshakable, like water flowing around stone—graceful, yet resilient. She doesn't assert control, yet everything seems to fall into pce around her. With just a gnce, she can soothe tempers or guide a room back to calm. She is the quiet force that steadies us when we falter.

  They are different in so many ways—he, the unyielding pilr; she, the soothing current—but together, they are perfectly matched. Where he holds firm, she yields with grace. Where she nurtures, he protects. Their love isn’t loud or boastful—it’s steady, enduring, and woven into every gesture, every gnce, every shared silence. It’s in the way he serves her without hesitation, and the way she cherishes him without condition.

  Together, they are the heart of our family: two halves of a whole, each making the other stronger.

  Today feels special, as we gathered together for breakfast. Theo returned from the Royal Academy to spend spring break with us, and my father had just come back from his business trip. We shared a peaceful, warm breakfast, filled with light conversation.

  After we finish, my father rises and gently helps my mother to her feet. He’ll escort her to her office before heading to the conference room for his morning meeting with the vassals.

  “Take care out there, my darlings,” my mother says with a tender smile.

  “And try not to give your teachers too much trouble—especially you, Nia,” my father adds, giving me a knowing look. I responded with a pout.

  As they make their way toward the door, my brothers also begin preparing to leave the dining hall, off to their morning combat training followed by lessons with their tutors.

  As for me, I’ll be riding a carriage to Cece’s estate, where I’ll join Eri for our studies.

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