The air around Maya still felt heavy with the hush of the garden. The tree stood silent, patient, its carved initials glowing faintly in the afternoon light. Every word Dahlia had spoken seemed to echo in her mind, each one settling like stone in her chest.
“Harringtons…” The name echoed once in her mind before realization struck.
Her eyes widened.
“You mean—the royal family Harringtons?”
Dahlia offered a warm, unassuming smile.
“Yes.”
Maya’s breath caught as pieces fell into place too quickly to ignore.
“You and my mom…” she began softly.
Dahlia’s smile deepened, and she nodded.
“Smart girl.”
She gestured lightly around them.
“The Harringtons and the Lockwoods have maintained close ties for nearly a century. That’s how your mother and I met—through family gatherings, formal obl
