Before stepping into the carriage, Arlienne turned gracefully to the guests gathered at Snowflake Mansion's entrance—her lantern-lit garden still glowing softly behind them, tables laden with half-eaten treats and cooling tea, children pausing mid-play with wide, worried eyes, commoners and merchants alike watching the scene unfold with a mix of confusion and quiet anger.
She bowed.
Deeply.
Graceful and dignified—even in the face of armored intrusion on her own birthday.
"I'm so sorry, everyone…" her voice carried warm and sincere across the hushed crowd, trembling only slightly at the edges. "I must leave for the palace. Thank you—from the bottom of my heart—for coming to celebrate my birthday. Your presence made this night truly unforgettable."
People quickly reassured her—voices overlapping in a heartfelt wave of affection and support.
"No, Lady Arlienne, it's okay!" Liora Arcwell called first, stepping forward with tears glistening in her eyes, clutching a half-wrapped gift. "We'll keep the lanterns burning until you return! This party isn't over yet!"
"Please return safely!" Old Man Hervin boomed from the back, fist thumping his broad chest with a resounding thud. "And tell those palace fools we ain't done celebratin' your day! We'll have the feast waiting—hot and ready!"
"We'll stay here and wait for you!" Mila the florist added, clutching a bouquet of blue roses she'd meant as a personal gift, her voice cracking with emotion. "The flowers won't wilt—we promise!"
Children waved shyly from behind parents' legs. "Happy birthday, Lady Snowflake! Come back soon!"
Tomas the baker wiped flour from his hands on his apron, nodding firmly. "The honey rolls are still warm. We'll save the best for when you're home."
Arlienne's eyes shimmered brighter—touched beyond words, a soft smile breaking through despite the circumstances.
"Thank you… all of you," she whispered, voice thick. "Your kindness means more than any palace could offer."
Aster clenched his jaw harder as he watched his mother apologize—for something that wasn't her fault, on the night meant for her joy.
He promised himself again, fists tightening at his sides until nails bit skin:
This will be the last time the palace steals our joy. I swear it.
Astra squeezed his hand tighter—sensing his fury, offering silent solidarity, her own eyes misty.
Liora hugged Arlienne one last time—fierce, protective. "Be strong, my friend. And remember—you have an army of us behind you."
Arlienne nodded, hugging back. "I know. And that gives me strength."
The royal carriage waited impatiently—lacquered purple and gold, royal emblem gleaming coldly under moonlight.
Soldiers stood rigid—faces impassive, but some shifting uncomfortably under the guests' disapproving stares.
Aster helped his mother inside first—gentle but firm, protective.
Astra followed—clutching Arlienne's hand as she settled.
He paused at the door—looking back at Snowflake Mansion one final time.
Their safe place.
Their hard-won home.
The place they had just begun celebrating their happiest night—lanterns still floating, food still warm, laughter cut short.
Now leaving it—because of palace pressure.
He clenched his jaw harder—resolve burning.
This won't be the last time.
But it will be the last time they force our hand without consequences.
Aster stepped in.
Doors closed with heavy finality.
Carriage lurched forward—soldiers riding alongside on horseback, clearing path with urgent shouts and clattering hooves.
***
The royal carriage sped through the capital with urgency that made Astra hold tightly onto her mother's arm—small fingers digging in as wheels rattled over cobblestones, jolting with every turn.
Street lamps blurred past—mana crystals flickering in rhythm with the horses' gallop.
Citizens paused mid-evening strolls—watching the royal escort thunder by, whispers rising in its wake.
"Is that the Snowflake carriage?"
"The twins? At this hour?"
"Tonight? On the queen's birthday?"
"Heading to the palace—something big must be happening…"
Arlienne stroked Astra's hair gently, murmuring reassurances. "It's all right, darling. Just a short visit. We'll be home soon."
Astra buried her face in her mother's side, voice muffled. "I don't like it, Mama… it feels wrong."
Arlienne's hand trembled slightly but kept stroking. "I know, sweetheart. But we'll face it together."
Aster stared out the window—capital lights giving way to palace grandeur, heart hardening with every passing street.
They think they can summon us like servants.*
On your birthday.
After everything.
Not anymore.
Carriage slowed—massive gates opening with mechanical groan, torches flaring along walls.
Courtyard vast—fountains dancing with elaborate fire-mana displays, guards saluting stiffly as they passed.
Moment carriage stopped in the grand forecourt, doors opened by waiting attendants—faces carefully neutral.
Aster stepped out first—scanning surroundings instinctively, silver eyes sharp.
Then Astra—hand reaching back for mother, small but determined.
Then Arlienne—in her pale blue dress glistening under courtyard lights, white hair flowing like moonlight itself, posture serene despite the circumstances.
Heads turned instantly—palace staff freezing mid-task, whispers rising like wind.
"Who is that woman with the twins?"
"She's… breathtaking."
"White hair like theirs—must be the mother."
"Lady Arlienne? The concubine?"
"No wonder the king…"
"Why is she here now—after all these years?"
Every step drew more attention—guards glancing, attendants bowing deeper, murmurs following like shadows.
Escorted by soldiers—officials trailing—the three walked together toward banquet hall entrance.
Aster's hand brushed his mother's reassuringly.
Astra stayed close—chin lifted.
Arlienne walked with quiet grace—head high, eyes forward.
***
When the massive double doors swung open with ceremonial flourish—
The entire room fell silent.
Absolute.
Hundreds of nobles—gowns heavy with jewels, tunics embroidered gold—froze mid-conversation.
Foreign dignitaries—exotic robes, curious eyes—stilled goblets mid-sip.
Wealthy merchants—nervous but intrigued—turned as one.
Famous mages—mana senses tingling—leaned forward.
Visitors from three kingdoms—whispers dying mid-sentence.
All stared.
Three figures entered:
- A mother of breathtaking grace—long white hair flowing like fresh snow under lantern light, pale blue dress shimmering softly with every step, posture serene yet radiating quiet, unbreakable strength.
- A boy with sharp silver eyes and princely bearing—eleven yet carrying himself like someone far older, white hair catching light like frost on glass.
- A girl like a soft, luminous star—identical features, dress mirroring her mother's elegance, eyes wide but brave, hand clasped in her brother's.
Snow-haired.
Snow-eyed.
Snowflake blood.
Aster, Astra, Arlienne.
They looked like a tableau carved from winter moonlight—ethereal, untouchable, beautiful in a way that commanded silence before awe.
Gasps echoed through the massive hall—rippling outward like waves from a stone dropped in still water.
"Are those… the Snowflakes?"
"The twins and their mother?!"
"She's even more beautiful than the rumors described…"
"No wonder the king fell for her—look at that grace, that presence…"
"Why doesn't she live in the palace… after all this time?"
"Those children—exact images of her. No wonder they're called Snowflakes."
Every eye turned toward them—conversation dying completely, goblets paused mid-sip, fans frozen mid-flutter.
The queen's face darkened immediately—her carefully painted smile freezing into something brittle, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.
Her lips twitched involuntarily.
Jaw tightened visibly—muscles clenching beneath powder.
When she saw Arlienne—elegant, radiant, drawing admiration without a single effort, standing tall beside her children—
Rage exploded behind her eyes—barely contained, fists clenching at her sides until nails bit skin.
She stood sharply from the throne—silk rustling like an angry serpent, crown tilting slightly.
"I told you," she hissed to the nearest soldier—voice low but venomous, barely audible over the stunned silence, "BRING THE TWINS.
Not her!"
The soldier flinched but bowed deeper—unable to respond.
Arlienne stood with perfect posture—serene, radiant without trying, a quiet light that needed no throne to shine.
And that was exactly why the queen hated her most deeply.
Arlienne Snowflake was everything the queen wasn't:
Effortlessly graceful—movements flowing like water.
Effortlessly beautiful—features soft yet striking, untouched by heavy cosmetics.
Effortlessly loved—by the king once, by the people always, by her children completely and openly.
And her children—Aster and Astra—looked exactly like her.
A living, breathing reminder of the king's greatest affection.
A reminder of children who outshined even the queen's own in public adoration and cultural impact.
Tonight, the queen had orchestrated everything to be the undisputed star—gifts, flattery, displays of power.
But the moment the Snowflake family stepped through the doors…
The entire hall forgot she existed.
All attention—admiring, curious, reverent—poured toward Arlienne and her twins.
***
The king sat on his throne—stunned into rare stillness.
He had forgotten—or perhaps forced himself to forget—how beautiful Arlienne truly was.
How much his children resembled her—white hair catching light like fresh frost, silver eyes holding the same quiet depth.
How peaceful she seemed amid the palace's cold grandeur.
How gentle her presence—drawing eyes and hearts without demand or artifice.
He stood slightly—almost stepping toward them, old affection stirring like embers under ash, hand half-extended.
But the queen shot him a glare—sharp, warning, promising later reckoning.
He froze—sinking back slowly, conflict plain in furrowed brow, clenched fist on throne arm.
Regret flickering deep.
Powerlessness settling heavier.
***
Aster, Astra, and Arlienne approached the thrones—steps measured and unified, heads high despite the weight of hundreds of stares.
They bowed politely—graceful, synchronized, showing respect without subservience.
"Your Majesty," Arlienne said first—voice calm, dignified, carrying warmly across the silent hall.
"Happy birthday, Queen Lura," Astra added sweetly—innocent smile bright, though eyes held quiet strength.
Aster bowed last—face unreadable, silver eyes steady and unflinching.
The queen forced a smile—tight, brittle, not reaching her eyes, more grimace than warmth.
"Thank you for finally joining us," she said—voice honeyed but edged like hidden blade. "It seems you have brought… unnecessary company."
Arlienne lowered her gaze slightly—humble gesture, but unflinching.
"I am only here to accompany my children—as their guardian and mother."
The queen's jaw tightened again—nails digging deeper into throne arm, knuckles whitening.
She wanted to unleash fury—publicly shame the concubine, remind all of station and history.
But foreign eyes watched keenly.
Reputation balanced on knife edge—any outburst would spread as scandal.
So she redirected glare at Aster and Astra—voice syrupy false sweetness.
"Very well. You may proceed to the stage. The guests have waited far too long for your… unique talents."
Aster nodded calmly—expression neutral, though eyes held quiet fire.
Astra smiled politely—though her small hand trembled slightly in Arlienne's.
Arlienne bowed once more—graceful exit, turning heads further.
The three moved toward the front of the hall—prepared stage draped crimson silk, fire-mana crystals waiting.
And the entire room turned with them—heads swiveling, whispers reigniting in excited waves.
"Who is that woman?"
"The mother? She's stunning—more beautiful than any painting."
"The twins look just like her—no wonder they're called Snowflakes."
"The queen looks furious…"
"The king… he can't take his eyes off her."
As they reached the stage, guests leaned forward eagerly—anticipation electric, murmurs growing.
At least a hundred nobles whispered excitedly:
"They're finally performing!"
"The famous Snowflakes—live at last!"
"To see them after all the albums… incredible!"
"I heard their rap can shake mana itself!"
"Their harmonies make people cry—I've played the stones nonstop at home!"
Foreign dignitaries murmured translations to aides—eyes bright with curiosity, some already pulling out note-scrolls.
Even children of nobles craned necks from back rows.
Aster stepped onto the stage with Astra beside him—small figures suddenly commanding the massive hall.
But before they began to sing—
He stopped.
Looked at the crowd.
At the nobles who had ignored his mother's birthday invitations.
At the foreign guests who had traveled far—genuine excitement shining.
At the queen—smiling like a viper from her throne, rage barely veiled.
At the king—conflicted, powerless, gaze flickering between family and wife.
Then he took a deep breath.
Mana stirred faintly around him—subtle hum building.
"Before we start," he said—voice firm and clear, carrying across the hall via the amplification stone in his hand.
"I want to say something to all of you."
The entire hall fell silent—pin-drop, breathless.
Even the queen froze—smile cracking, eyes narrowing.
Astra widened her eyes slightly. "A-Aster…?"
Arlienne's heart skipped a beat—watching anxiously from below the stage, hands clasped tightly.
Nobles leaned in—curiosity piqued.
Foreign dignitaries straightened—sensing something momentous.
The king swallowed nervously—leaning forward.
Aster stood tall—silver eyes unwavering, posture steady.
He was about to speak—
And whatever he said next…
Would shake the entire palace to its foundations.