#cedric 004

laena moved between the hedges with unhurried grace, one hand lifting the hem of her gown just enough to keep it from brushing the soil. the silk clung lightly to her in the warmth, pale green and nearly translucent in the sun, her long hair undone, catching bits of light like strands of gold and silver. her basket was already half-filled with berries, the ripe kind that bled red across her fingertips.

“they’ve started keeping detailed logs of the livestock,” she said, eyes on a low thorn bush. “three more lambs born last week, and one stubborn goat who keeps trying to escape the pen.” her lips quirked in a smile. “they’ve named him prince.”

the gardens were full of soft sound, buzzing bees from the apiary, water trickling from a small fountain nearby, the faint rustle of the breeze in the fruit trees. her staff moved quietly beyond sight, all of them foreign-born, most from volantis, chosen not by chance, but by care. laena had spoken long with the princess dowager of dorne, myriam allyrion, who inspired her to extend a hand to these women and welcome them to her household. they were efficient, courteous, and proud of their craft. hollywell, slowly, was becoming something alive.

“the new grove’s taking root,” she said, brushing a curl back from her face. “pomegranate, fig, and quince. the cooks say the fruit will be strange at first, foreign to the soil… but i like the thought of that. sweet things learning how to grow here.”

she wandered a step ahead, the sunlight catching the sheer silks of her gown as it swayed about her legs. her basket hung lightly in one hand, filled with dark berries and a few soft herbs still dewy from the morning. without breaking stride, she plucked one of the ripest berries and held it delicately between thumb and forefinger.

with a glance over her shoulder, she popped it past her lips — and smiled when the juice touched her tongue. “mm,” she hummed, eyes fluttering shut for the barest moment. “sharper than yesterday.”

she turned back toward him then, stepping close enough that the silk of her sleeve brushed his. another berry was selected, this one just as ripe, and she offered it to him, arm outstretched, wrist soft, fingers stained red.

“they always taste better when someone else picks them, or so my mum always said,” she said with a small laugh, the words light but filled with something tender. her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something almost unspoken in the way her smile softened. the air between them felt still, golden with sun and beesong, and she let it linger before glancing toward the orchard ahead.

she looked back toward cedric then, eyes crinkling in the sunlight. “we’ve a woman here who does mosaics. she apprenticed in the temple district, in volantis. she offered to teach me. i might let her.” her tone was lighter now, playful. “if only to make something that doesn’t unravel.”