Acceptance and fear

Annex Parlor, Late Afternoon

The sun had begun its descent, casting a honeyed light through the gauzy drapes of the annex parlor. The fire crackled softly, more for comfort than warmth. Apollonia was asleep in her bassinet, bundled in a pale lavender quilt, her tiny fists twitching occasionally in dreams.

Leila sat nearby on a velvet chaise, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked unusually quiet today, her back straight, but her eyes distant. Aurora, seated across from her with embroidery in her lap, glanced up from her needlework, sensing the heaviness in the room.

"You've been quieter than usual, Leila," Aurora said gently, setting the hoop aside.

Leila hesitated. "I've just… been thinking about Nia's future," she said softly, eyes drifting to her daughter. "What kind of world she'll grow up in. What people will say. What titles they'll whisper behind her back."

Aurora followed her gaze, her expression warm but attentive.

"She's part of both worlds," Leila continued. "Human and demon. And yet, accepted by neither. Even now, when some of the maids smile at her, I can sense their unease. Their prayers. Their pity." She swallowed hard. "What place is there for a child like her? What if… she grows up hating herself because of what she is?"

The words lingered like smoke. Aurora leaned forward, her fingers lacing together.

"I've wondered that same question before. When Lucerne was taken in by the Emperor. When Octavius walked a tightrope between family and duty. When Tiberius is just a child facing insults in shadows after Rudolph's disgrace. I asked myself what kind of world I was leaving behind for them. But we are their mothers, Leila. Our fear cannot outweigh our duty to build that world with our own hands."

Leila gave a soft, trembling sigh. "Even if we build it, the foundation is already cracked."

There was a pause before Aurora's voice returned, softer but firmer:

"Then let us rebuild it—stone by stone."

She shifted, eyes calm, steady. "That is why I wished to speak to you privately today."

Leila's brows lifted.

"I wish to formally propose a match," Aurora said. "Between you and my son. Between you and Octavius."

Leila froze. Her heart stuttered.

"I—" she shook her head, almost instinctively. "Lady Aurora, I can't—"

"I haven't spoken to him yet," Aurora interjected gently. "This is not a matter of pressure. I'm simply laying the path if you wish to walk it."

Leila stood abruptly, pacing toward the balcony doors. The weight of Aurora's words pressed heavily on her chest. "Even if… even if I considered it—" her voice cracked "—what if he refuses?"

Aurora tilted her head. "Do you truly believe he would?"

Leila's hands trembled slightly. "I'm tainted by a devil. That alone is reason for rejection. I am the mother of a child who shares demonic blood. And… I know what Octavius feels for Her highness princess Luciana. Everyone knows. He still looks at her like she hung the stars herself."

There was pain in her honesty, not bitterness—just fear.

"He couldn't let go of her then," Leila whispered. "Maybe… he still can't."

Aurora rose and slowly approached, stopping beside her.

"You're not wrong," she said with maternal honesty. "Octavius did love Luciana deeply. And a part of him always will. But love… is not always about who came first. Sometimes, love grows quietly, through shared pain. Through the acceptance of broken pieces."

Leila looked down, trying to hold herself together.

Aurora reached out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "He admires you, Leila. For your strength. For your grace, even in isolation. And he adores Apollonia more than he lets on. I've seen it—the softness in his eyes when he watches her. He doesn't see her as a demon's child. He sees her as yours."

Tears welled in Leila's eyes.

"You're not tainted," Aurora whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "You're brave. You protected your daughter when the world looked away. That is what any noble woman—any mother—should aspire to be."

Leila finally crumbled into Aurora's embrace, the tension she carried melting into quiet sobs. "What if I'm not enough for him?"

Aurora's voice was low and fierce. "Then he is the one unworthy—not you."

They stood like that for a long while.

When Leila pulled away, wiping her eyes, Aurora smiled.

"No matter what you decide… know this: I will never see Apollonia as anything less than my own granddaughter. And I will always welcome you, not as a guest… but as family."

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Palace Gardens, Quiet Dusk.....

Octavius stood beneath the arbor of moonvine, where the light of dusk streamed through leaves like molten glass. A soft wind stirred the air, carrying with it the faint sound of laughter.

He followed it instinctively—and saw them.

Leila knelt on the grass, holding Apollonia in her arms, gently rocking her as the child pointed at fluttering butterflies above the hedge maze. Her laughter was pure, filled with innocent delight.

Octavius watched silently, hand tucked behind his back. There was an ache in his chest—a strange blend of longing, guilt, and confusion. He'd never imagined himself in a life like that. Domestic. Gentle. Peaceful.

But now he found himself wondering… what if?

Apollonia spotted him. Her eyes lit up.

"Pa~!" she squealed.

Octavius's throat tightened. He didn't know when she had begun calling him that. She would often start calling him with incomplete ways that others would guess the words as him being referred to as 'father'.

Leila turned, startled at first. Their gazes met—hers uncertain, his unreadable.

He gave a faint smile, then quietly turned and walked away before he could say anything foolish.