Her study time had increased.
"It's time for your etiquette lesson," her father and Ian announced together, and a restless Sophia reluctantly agreed that it was.
She came out in a beautiful new gown and presented herself with a gentle curtsy, turning to show them, and the two of them observed her with thoughtful expressions and then gave her precise, picky, endless instructions, much to her inner frustration.
Afterwards, Sophia, Ian and a brown-haired boy sat discussing the visit to the royal palace, and what an invitation like that meant.
The royal palace had been closed for a decade, ever since the current emperor ascended the throne.
Emperor Castile Havilius. A reign of terror was the polite phrase, and the impolite fact everyone knew was that he had coveted his own brother's lover.
Sophia felt apprehensive. The rumours about the palace grounds involved blood, and the rumours about the emperor said he could not be stopped by anyone.
Still, being invited had to mean something.
"Princess Beatrice is the daughter of the concubine Melicia Fidelis," Ian explained. He hoped that the recent business with Charone had not angered the emperor.
Sophia thought about that. The Fidelis family had supported Charone, and when he was exposed as a criminal the backlash had landed squarely on them.
She worried about the emperor's rumoured volatility, and thought that Ian's fiancée must be worried on his account too.
Then she panicked outright. Was a visit like that going to be all right?
"The Herman Knights want to spar with you," the brown-haired boy told Ian. "You should accept."
"My father will be joining personally—"
Sophia's head came up.
Ian found himself seized by an excited nine-year-old who insisted they go and watch his father's swordsmanship together.
With lessons over, the brown-haired boy eagerly asked the long-haired man to show them his cool side.
Her father hesitated. He admitted he was worried that his body was not what it used to be. Then he agreed to a short session.
At the grand estate where the knights trained, her father defeated one man, and then the next, and then the next, calling "Next" after each of them in the same even voice.
Sophia watched in open amazement. He was that strong without an arm, and without using his aura at all. He was, she concluded, incredibly cool.
The knights thanked him for the honour of sparring with him, praising him openly, and Sophia wondered whether there was anything at all that man could not do.
"Sir Ian's swordsmanship has already surpassed a high-ranked knight's," the brown-haired boy observed.
Her father praised Ian's skill. Ian insisted, humbly, that he still had a great deal to learn.
Then Ian turned to him, hesitant but determined, and formally asked his father to spar with him — every day, until he left for boarding school.
Her father agreed, a warm smile spreading across his face.
"I want to learn swordsmanship from Dad too!" Sophia declared, inspired.
Later, her father discussed the request with the grey-haired man, admitting that he had hoped she might live a life set well away from blades.
"Dorothy learned swordsmanship from you," the grey-haired man pointed out. "Sophia's mother."
Her father remembered how that had gone. Dorothy had taught him to cook in exchange for the lessons.
At the boarding school there had been a young Theo, furious, yelling about a talented girl named Dorothy Fondian and how deeply unfair her talent was, while Dorothy herself looked on quite calmly, unbothered by the rivalry.
"Your cooking is really good," she told him. "You're very cool."
Theo was stunned.
"It's the most delicious food in the world," she said. "I want to eat your cooking for the rest of my life."
Theo, flustered beyond recovery, mistook it for a marriage proposal.
In the present, her father smiled fondly. Dorothy had loved his cooking.
"Is that why you still cook yourself?"
"Yes." He wished he could see her smile over his food again, just once.
The grey-haired man admitted, with the glass in his hand, that he had disapproved once. He had feared his son was abandoning the sword for the kitchen. He could see now that he had been wrong about that.
He gave his son his blessing to do exactly as he wanted, and then smiled and added that things were already going his way regardless.
Over a table of exquisite desserts, Theodore asked, proudly, "Whose son do you think I am?"
In a memory, in a red and ornate building, a furious red-haired woman was blaming a young boy for everything that had gone wrong.
She raised her hand to strike him.
Then she flinched back, because the boy was glaring up at her and his eyes were glowing a menacing gold.
He seized her arm with contempt.
"Disgusting."
She collapsed under the look on his face, seeing in it the resemblance to another man.
A red-haired boy fretted along a sunlit colonnade, thinking that everything was a mess and wondering what he was supposed to do about it. His eyes glowed faintly yellow as he walked.
He greeted a red-haired woman named Bethy, who was out tending the garden for the Herman guests arriving tomorrow.
He smirked. Everyone would like the garden; he was confident of that much.
A memory came with it — a smiling red-haired girl among beautiful pink flowers, her hand holding a pair of shears over a bed of brilliant red and pink roses.
And a darker vision behind it: a faceless man in a regal coat with his hands around the throat of a faceless red-haired woman.
The story of Imperial Prince Castile was widely told. He had become crown prince, and he had taken as his concubine a red-haired woman who resembled his dead brother's lover.
That woman was Melicia Fidelis, the mother of the unfortunate Princess Beatrice, whose tragic tale everyone knew.
After Melicia's execution for treason, Beatrice and her brother were confined to the palace and left there to suffer — the princess falling lifelessly among wilting flowers, in the version the empire told itself.
In the present, Sophia stood beside Ian, worried.
A red-haired girl came toward them, smiling, and formally welcomed Ian Herman and Sophia Herman to the palace.