I enter a large ballroom. A magnificent chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its crystals tinkling slightly as a breeze wafts in through one of the enormous windows. The golden light filters through, casting an enchanting glow upon the room. Chairs and long tables line the sides, while half a dozen witches dressed in green overalls – just like Romina's – cover the furniture with plastic sheets, preparing for the fumigation. Leonora hurries past without stopping, her urgency palpable. I trail behind her until we reach the adjoining room.

This massive chamber is filled with large paintings, each more intriguing than the last. I step onto a gigantic rug made of rich silk that features an intricate pattern of flowers and trees. The rug stretches vertically across the room, culminating at a raised dais where a splendid redwood throne awaits. Its soft white cushions contrast beautifully with the flowering branches that decorate the headboard, extending along the wall as if they were extensions of the throne itself. A beautiful crown, crafted with cherry branches, rests on the armchair.

Next to the throne stands a somewhat old lady, short and with an unfriendly face. As Leonora speaks to her apologetically, I can't help but wonder if that woman could be the Queen. I approach slowly, careful not to interrupt their conversation. My eyes wander around the room, taking in the details of the curtains and the stained-glass windows that depict floral motifs and figures of women.

"Hey, Nyx," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "is that woman the Queen?" He glances at me but doesn't respond. There's no need.

I watch, dumbfounded, as Leonora lifts the crown from its seat and places it gently on her head. The moment it makes contact with her golden locks, the branches that form the crown begin to grow, rapidly sprouting beautiful pink cherry blossoms that open in an instant. What the hell...? Is it Leonora...?

"Queen...?" I gasp, unable to believe my eyes.

Leonora stares back at me, equally confused, until finally, she realises the reason for my shock and taps her fingertips lightly on her head. "That's right, I didn't mention it. I'm the Spring Queen," she says casually, as if announcing she'd just made a cup of tea.

Before I can utter another word, the older woman next to us coughs loudly, deliberately interrupting me. "The Queen must urgently attend to certain matters," she states with a stern expression.

Leonora gestures to Nyx, who takes a few steps forward before black smoke billows around him and he transforms into his animal cat form. He then climbs onto Leonora's lap, his sleek black fur shining under the room's soft light. Distractedly, Leonora scratches behind his ears, eliciting a contented purr from him. I can't help but blush slightly at the sight of them together.

"Eileen, I must stay here to take care of a few things. I'm really sorry. I'll try to finish soon, I promise. I still must give you your birthday present. And we should talk. Nyx, do you mind taking care of her until then?" Leonora asks, her voice filled with warmth.

Nyx leaps off her lap and says, "As you wish, Your Majesty." In an instant, he transforms again into a dashingly handsome human with a cat mask. It's hard to get used to that, I think to myself.

Feeling the weight of the old lady's glare, Nyx and I respectfully back away from the throne, retreating to a spot closer to the entrance. I can't help but break the silence that has settled over us. "What do you mean Spring Queen? Is Leonora… a queen, a real queen, with subjects and all?"

Nyx chuckles, the sound light and warm. "I guess that's the definition of a Queen.”

"Hey, don't laugh!" I exclaim, feeling a bit defensive. "This morning I didn't even know that Leonora existed, and now on top of that, I find out that I'm related to royalty."

His laughter subsides, but a playful glint remains in his eyes as he stops short and raises a hand, pointing to a huge painting hanging on the wall. Thanks to my art lessons, I recognise the style as Romantic. The picture portrays a middle-aged woman with light blue eyes and blonde hair tied back. A wreath of cherry blossoms encircles her head, and she stands beside a white Persian cat with abundant fur. On her pale face is a half-smile—friendly and reassuring—as if she's just caught me up to some mischief and is silently telling me, 'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.'

“This is Galatea Wildcherry, your grandmother and former Spring Queen,” Nyx says, his voice gentle.

My heart skips a beat as I take in the image of my grandmother, a woman I've never known but who still seems familiar. I wonder what it would have been like to meet her, to hear her stories. My mind races with questions about her and what kind of person she might have been.

"Was she… well-loved?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Very much so," Nyx replies, a hint of admiration in his tone. "She had a warm heart and always saw the best in people."

Thoughts about the cherry tree in the Four Seasons Square fill my head – would it be like that when I die? Would I still feel the wind and the sun on my branches, or remember the people I loved when I turned into a tree?

"She seems nice," I say out loud, feeling a strange connection to this woman I never had the chance to meet.

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"She was," Nyx replies. I glance at the row of paintings, noticing the other women adorned with floral crowns and accompanied by their feline companions. "Are the others former queens as well?"

"Mostly," he says. "Of course, there aren't portraits of them all. The oldest dates back to the 15th century, I believe. But Witchwood was founded much earlier."

My curiosity piqued, I ask, "When was it founded?"

"Er... was it in the... 1st century?" Nyx hesitates. "The Foundress of Spring was your ancestor, Eislyn Wildcherry. There's a play about the Four Foundresses tonight, organised by Muriel. You can ask her; she doesn't talk about anything else."

"Who's Muriel?" I wonder, trying to keep up with this whirlwind of new information.

"She's the heiress to the Winter Throne," he explains. "She's... peculiar, but it's understandable given her circumstances."

We walk in silence for a bit on our way out, my thoughts swirling with all I've learned so far. Finally, I gather the courage to ask the question that's been nagging at me. "Who's Freya?" I inquire, attempting to maintain a poker face. I remember Romina mentioning that Freya was her queen.

"Do you mean Freya Oak? She's the Summer Queen," Nyx answers, seemingly oblivious to my underlying curiosity.

I try to hide my intrigue, but my mind races with questions. Why would Romina want to talk to the Summer Queen about me? To inform her I'd be attending the party?

"Right," I say, attempting nonchalance.

"Don't worry, you'll meet them all tonight. Let's keep going," Nyx encourages.

As we continue walking, we cross the ballroom once more. One of the witches in green overalls stops us and urges us to leave quickly, explaining that they're about to fumigate. We exit the room just as the doors close behind us. Through the narrowing gap, I catch a glimpse of the witches donning masks and spraying a lavender-scented mist into the air.

"Tell me something," I ask as we proceed down a corridor. "Why are they fumigating? Are fairies dangerous?"

Nyx shrugs. "Not particularly. It's just protocol, really. There hasn't been a fairy sighting in Witchwood for years—not since Ariadna created the Fairy Brigade."

"Ariadna... that name sounds familiar," I mumble, trying to place it.

"The statue in the Four Seasons Square," Nyx clarifies. "Ariadna Oak, the one who came up with the method for fumigating fairies."

"Ah, right." Of course, it makes sense now. "So why exactly do we have to fumigate? Are fairies pests or something?"

"Basically, yes," he explains. "Fairies feed on witch-trees. They're not much more than bugs, really. I doubt you'll ever encounter one, though."

Nyx and I walk through the labyrinthine corridors of the Spring Palace. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of battles and magic, statues of mysterious creatures line the halls, and I can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of curiosity about it all, so I pepper Nyx with questions.

"Nyx," I begin, my voice trembling with eagerness. "What year was the palace constructed?” I ask.

Nyx lets out an exasperated sigh, his sharp eyes narrowing in frustration. "Eileen, you ask too many questions," he mutters, running a hand through his onyx-black hair. "You know what?" he says, coming to a halt suddenly. "I know just the place to take you," he proclaims, his golden eyes shining, as he carries on.

"Where are you taking me then?"

He sighs again, his tone resigned. "The library. Maybe there you'll find the answers you seek... and you'll finally shut up. No offence."

To be honest, I do take a bit of an offence, but I stop with the questioning.

***

The library is a huge room across two stories, floor-to-ceiling with books on every wall and rolling stairs to reach the highest shelves. Some witches read in armchairs or by the window. I wonder what kind of books you can find here...

Nyx explains that this library pales in comparison to the largest one in Witchwood, the Great Library of the Winter Palace. The smell of old books fills the air, igniting a sense of mystery and excitement.

I've always been a fan of novels, enjoying the escape they offer from reality. Non-fiction books can be just as captivating, provided the subject matter is interesting. My fingers trace the spines of various tomes, discovering titles like Catalog of Good Wisps, Making of the Witch's Hat, and Recipes for All Hallows' Eve. Such an incredible assortment of knowledge; it's hard to know where to begin.

"Here," Nyx says, selecting several books for me. "The General History of Witchwood, the Guide for Young Witches, and an edition of the Brief Compendium of Wisps. These should help you get started."

"Thanks," I reply, taking the books from him. Just as we're about to leave, one book catches Nyx's eye.

"Oh, this is a good one!" He exclaims, rushing to the shelf and pulling out a green tome with gold lettering. A willow tree drawing adorns the cover. "Witch Tales, by Morgana Yew. Your grandmother used to read this book to Leonora and your mother when they were little."

My heart skips a beat at the mention of my mother. It's strange to hear other people talk about her as if she were real. At times, I'd even imagined her as nothing more than a story my Dad had made up. But she was real – a woman with a family, a past, and secrets that perhaps not even my father knew. I wonder if he's even aware she was a witch.

"You've asked a lot of questions today... but none about your mother," Nyx points out tactfully. "Is there nothing you want to know about her?" His warm eyes are filled with sorrow and compassion, and for once I know he's not joking.

"Did you know her?" I ask quietly, gripping the books in my hands.

Nyx nods slowly. "Yes, I did."

"Was my mother older or younger than Leonora? Did she have more sisters?"

"Your mother was the eldest. Galatea only had two daughters."

My chest tightens, my breathing rapid. My hands begin to sweat as I clutch the books tighter. "Are you…? Is my mother here? In Witchwood? Is she alive?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with anticipation and fear.