Back in my room, the light had shifted. It wasn't sunset yet, but the sun had moved behind the palace, leaving my window in a soft shadow. The warmth from earlier was gone, but the quiet remained. It wasn't the lonely kind of quiet. Just still.
I walked to the edge of my bed and sat for a moment, looking at my satchel where Gabel had placed it—next to the bed stool, neatly arranged like everything else in this room. The fabric was worn, the stitches uneven, and the strap was a little frayed on one side.
It looked out of place here. But I recognized it more than anything else. I reached for it and pulled it onto my lap. Unpacking didn't take long. There were only three things inside.
The first was the cloth curtain I'd been wrapped in when I was left at the orphanage. It was plain and soft, the kind of fabric used to separate rooms or cover broken windows. Washed too many times, the threads had started to thin at the corners.
There was no embroidery, no crest, no initials. Just folds and faded brown seams. The Matron had kept it. Maybe because it was all I had when she found me. Maybe because it was easier to keep than explain. I unfolded it slowly and ran my hand across the center. It didn't smell like anything anymore. No dust. No warmth. Just fabric. But it was mine.
The second thing was the notebook I had taken from the Church during the Holy Season. The cover was a little bent, the corners curled, but none of the pages had been written in. Not yet. It had felt too precious for writing. Too clean.
So I had saved it. Hid it under the stairs in the gap between the floor and the wall, wrapped in rags to keep it from being damaged. Now it sat in my lap, untouched. Waiting. The third thing was something the Matron had packed without asking: a folded piece of paper from the orphanage's intake log.
On it, in her sharp, tired handwriting, were the words: "Found on the porch. No note. No name. Approximately 3 days old. Wrapped in curtain." No mention of crying. No mention of how I looked. Just that. I folded it back up and set it beside the others. That was all I owned before coming here. One curtain. One blank notebook. One line of observation.
I stared at them for a moment, then placed them gently in the drawer beside my bed. I lined them up neatly—like they were important. Maybe not to anyone else. But to me. I didn't want to forget where I came from. Even if it was cold. Even if it was small. Even if it wasn't mine by choice.
After unpacking, I walked to the balcony. The door was unlocked. The handle turned easily under my hand. The air outside was cooler than I expected, the breeze carrying the scent of something green—grass, trimmed hedges, maybe a little rose.
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. The balcony wasn't large. Just enough space for a few chairs and a small table. The floor was pale stone, smooth but not slippery. The railing was waist-high, carved in soft curves and spirals.
From here, I could see almost everything. The sun wasn't above me anymore. It had started to drift west, leaving the sky in soft colors—pale orange at the edges, light blue near the top. It caught in the windows of nearby buildings, bouncing off roofs and glass like gold.
For the first time, I saw the Ice Palace clearly. Without the glare of sunlight, it looked different—less like a giant mirror, more like something real. The blue-tinted walls caught the fading light gently, not blindingly. The sharp spires looked delicate now, not dangerous.
It looked like something from a fairy tale. The kind the older children used to whisper about. A place where winter never ended, where snowflakes fell like petals, and where silence lived inside the walls. It didn't look cold in a cruel way. Just quiet. Like a secret waiting for someone to find it.
Farther in the distance, slightly to the east, I could see the top of the Sun Palace. Even with just part of it visible, it was bright. The golden spires caught the last of the sun like it belonged to them. The walls shimmered with soft yellow light, and banners fluttered even when the breeze didn't reach them.
I stared at it for a long time. The home of the Imperial Family. The people I was told I was part of. By blood. Even if not by memory. I wondered what they were like. The caretakers used to say royals were serious. Strict. Proud. Cruel when disrespected. They said the Emperor's word was law, that even nobles bowed without question. That no one could speak unless spoken to.
But… I looked at the palace again. The city that surrounded it. The roads. The spires. The flowers that bloomed year-round. The peaceful breeze. The glass galleries. The servants who didn't yell. The knights who bowed.
Could someone cruel build something so beautiful? Could someone cold keep the heart of the empire so warm? And the Empress, with her garden full of foreign flowers and delicate pavilions… She couldn't be harsh. Not someone who arranged petals for tea tables. Not someone who grew vines in crystal halls.
I didn't know if the Emperor was strict. Or if the servants were proud. Or if the nobles in the Sun Palace looked down on people like me. But I wanted to believe… maybe not all of them were like that. Maybe someone in that palace was like Caelum. Kind without saying it too loudly.
I looked down. Below my balcony stretched the rose maze I'd seen earlier. From here, it looked like a pattern. Winding green paths broken by red and white roses. The hedges weren't tall—just high enough to hide the next turn. And in the center of it all sat a gazebo, round and white, with a pointed roof and open archways on every side.
I had seen children's books with mazes before. But none like this. None made of living things. I wondered if I could go there someday. Maybe read a book on one of the benches. Or sit with the cat, if he ever came back. I leaned on the railing and looked further. Beyond the maze. Beyond the western wall of the palace.
I couldn't see it from here, but I remembered Caelum's words during the tour—that the eastern edge of the estate bordered a small forest. Not a wild one, but carefully tended. A place for walks. For peace.
Even if I couldn't see it, I believed it was there. Just like I believed the servants' wing was behind the far corner of the palace, curving around toward the knights' dormitories. Caelum had shown me that too. "This is their home, just like it's ours," he had said.
And they really lived here. Not hidden in some basement or small shed, but in proper rooms. The same walls. The same roof. Close enough to reach us if we needed them. That mattered. More than I could say.
The wind moved again, soft and steady, brushing a lock of my hair into my eyes. I didn't brush it away. I closed my eyes. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn't cold. Not in the wind. Not in the shadow. Not in my heart.
I stood on the balcony, above a garden made of mazes and roses, beneath a sky painted in quiet color. The place where I slept was warm. The people who bathed me were kind. The man who brought me here didn't flinch when I spilled food or hesitated at doors.
And somewhere out there, the Imperial Family ruled from a palace that shone like the sun. I didn't know them. Not yet. But… one day… I would.