The warmth of sunlight filtered through the grand windows of his bedroom, casting intricate patterns on the floor. The room was vast, adorned with polished wood furniture and rich velvet drapes, all befitting a noble's status. Valen lay sprawled on his oversized bed, the soft silk sheets tangled around his legs, his pale blonde hair catching the morning light as it fell across his eyes—blue eyes, bright with the restlessness of fourteen years.

  Just outside his window, something scratched. A tall, wide shadow descended upon him, ready to grab him. Then a knock sounded at the door. The soft creak of it opening followed. Eddena stepped in, her posture rigid, her face a carefully composed mask of professional indifference. She was tall for a woman, with an imposing, voluptuous frame that filled the doorway, her black hair pulled back in a severe bun that showed off striking blue eyes. Behind her, a girl of about twelve years—small for her age and slight where Eddena was tall and substantial—peeked into the room, holding a tray with a steaming teacup. Rose had her mother's black hair, though hers was tied in a softer, smaller bun, and the same vivid blue eyes, but on her delicate, childish frame they looked enormous. The girl had a playful spark in her eyes, but she kept her head bowed respectfully as Eddena spoke.

  "Master Valen, it's time to rise," Eddena said, her voice clipped and formal. She moved to the window with efficient, measured steps, snapping the curtains open with a brisk motion that let in the light. She did not look at him directly, keeping her eyes fixed on some middle distance as she straightened his discarded clothes from the night before. "Your presence is required for morning duties."

  "Barely," Valen muttered, though he sat up, his dishevelled blonde hair falling into his blue eyes. At fourteen, he was already gangly, all elbows and sharp angles, growing too fast for his clothes. He didn't notice how her fingers twitched slightly toward the brush on his dresser before she clasped her hands behind her back, her knuckles whitening.

  The girl stepped forward and placed the tray on his bedside table, her movements quick and careful. She looked at him with familiar ease, the comfort of shared childhoods.

  "Good morning, Master Valen," Rose said with a small smile, her tone teasing. Though she was only twelve, she had already begun her training as a maid, following Eddena's footsteps through the manor. "Dreaming of heroics again?"

  He smirked, brushing his hair back. "Always. Someone has to save the realm from mediocrity, don't they?"

  Eddena cleared her throat, a sharp sound in the morning quiet. "You'd do well to focus on your ledgers, young master," she said, her voice devoid of inflection as she smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his bedsheet. "Nobility is maintained through duty, not daydreams. The Horus name doesn't shine itself."

  Valen snorted. "Duty. I'm just the spare they never wanted."

  Eddena's back straightened, her tall frame freezing for a fraction of a second before she resumed her task. When she turned, her blue eyes were hard, glittering like chipped stone. "You are what you choose to be," she said, her voice low and almost cold. "Nothing more, nothing less. Remember that, if you remember nothing else."

  The girl giggled at his dramatics, earning a sharp glance from Eddena—a look that held no warmth, only the strict expectation of propriety.

  Valen strolled through the mansion's grand halls, his boots clicking softly against the marble floors. The air was filled with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread and the distant hum of servants attending to their duties. His parents—Lord and Lady Horus—were likely in the study or hosting a noble dinner where Valen wasn't expected to be. The Lady of the house in particular with her red hair and severe brown eyes, always looked through him as if he were a ghost haunting her halls, her lips pursing whenever he entered a room.

  He found himself in the library, a place he often escaped to when the weight of noble expectations or the lack thereof grew too heavy. Rows upon rows of books towered above him, their spines gleaming in the light.

  Plucking a book from the shelf, he sank into one of the plush armchairs. It was a tale of a legendary hero, one who rose from obscurity to save the world. Valen couldn't help but chuckle, his blue eyes scanning the pages. "As if life ever works out so cleanly," he muttered to himself.

  Just then, Rose appeared in the doorway, her small arms laden with linens that seemed too large for her frame. She moved with the unconscious grace of a child who had grown up running through these same halls, her black hair neat in its small bun, her blue eyes meeting his with the easy familiarity of shared secrets. At twelve, she was still more girl than woman, all knees and quick movements. "Master Valen, the stable master said your horse is ready if you'd like to ride today."

  He glanced up, closing the book. "A ride sounds far better than reading about someone else's adventures."

  Rose tilted her head, curiosity glinting in those blue eyes—eyes that were, Valen had sometimes thought in passing, a shade similar to his own, though her hair was dark as night while his was pale as wheat. "Where will you go today?"

  "Anywhere but here," he said with a wink, standing and stretching.

  He didn't see how Eddena stood at the end of the hall, her tall, curvaceous frame rigid, her hand gripping a polishing cloth so tightly her fingers turned white. She watched them leave with a gaze that could have cut glass, her black hair gleaming in the dim corridor light, her mouth set in a thin, hard line. Only when they had turned the corner did she press her free hand flat against her chest, a single, stiff gesture of pain quickly suppressed, before she returned to her work with mechanical precision.

  The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the sprawling grounds of the Horus estate. The cool wind blew gently through the trees, rustling the leaves in a symphony of whispers. Valen rode at a relaxed pace, his horse's hooves thudding softly against the dirt path. Rose sat behind him on the same horse, her small hands gripping his waist, her chin barely clearing his shoulder. At twelve, she was too small for her own horse yet, and the stable master had long since given up trying to keep her from riding out with Valen.

  The girl was slight, her youthful face framed by simple maid attire that was slightly too big for her growing frame, yet something about the way she sat made her seem more regal than her station suggested. They had been close since they were children—he fourteen now, she twelve—bound by an inexplicable affinity that neither questioned. Back then, they would often run through the estate together, playing in the fields and getting into harmless mischief, the Lady of the house—her red hair gleaming like copper in the sun—frowning whenever she saw them together, though she never explained why.

  "Do you ever think about leaving?" Valen asked, his voice barely rising above the soft clip-clop of the horse's hooves.

  Rose glanced over at him from behind his shoulder, her face thoughtful, her blue eyes catching the fading light. She was quiet for a moment but Valen noticed the faraway look in her eyes. "Leave?" she repeated. "Where would I go? What would I do?"

  "Anywhere but here," he said, gesturing to the vast estate surrounding them with one hand while keeping the reins steady with the other. "I don't think anyone notices when I'm around. Maybe it's the same for you."

  She was silent for a long moment, the only sound between them the wind and the rhythmic trotting of the horse. "I think I would miss the gardens," Rose said softly, her small voice muffled against his back. "And the way the roses bloom in spring. But you… you're different. You don't have to stay. You could go anywhere, be anything."

  Valen snorted softly, shaking his blonde head. "I'm the black sheep of House Horus, Rose. Even if I wanted to leave, I don't think anyone would care."

  She met his gaze as he turned slightly, her lips curving upward just slightly. "Maybe you just don't realize how much you're needed here. You might be a 'black sheep,' but you're still a part of this place. A part of everything."

  Valen didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, he nudged the horse gently, urging it into a trot. He had always liked her quiet, calm nature. Even as a child of eight or nine, she never seemed to mind being the observer rather than the instigator.

  They rode through the winding paths of the estate's sprawling grounds. The trees were dense, their canopies thick enough to block out much of the sun, casting the trails in shade. The scent of fresh grass and the earth beneath the horse's hooves filled the air, and for a moment, Valen felt a sense of peace that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

  "What if I really did leave?" he asked, his voice quieter this time. "What if I went off and didn't come back? What would you think?"

  Rose was silent for a moment, her small hands tightening slightly on his waist, and then she answered, her voice steady. "I would miss you, of course. But more than that... I think you'd regret it. You'd feel lost. You've always had everything handed to you, Valen. The only heavy lifting you've ever done is lifting your own ego."

  Valen arched an eyebrow, a wounded expression crossing his face. "You didn't have to say it like that."

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  Rose giggled, the sound bright and sudden against the quiet of the trail, her hand covering her mouth to stifle it. "But I did."

  His expression darkened, though there was no real anger in it. "Responsibility? I never asked for any of it."

  "I know," Rose said, her tone softening. "But sometimes, things aren't about asking. They just are."

  They rounded a bend in the trail, and ahead of them, the distant mansion stood. Its towering silhouette was bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun as they approached a small creek that ran through the estate.

  Valen dismounted, then helped Rose down, his hands around her waist as he lowered her to the ground. She was light, still child-light, though he could feel the sharp angles of her growing bones. He stretched his legs as he led the horse to the water, letting the water run through his fingers as Rose followed. The silence between them felt comfortable, familiar, yet it was laced with something unsaid—some bond forged in the quiet hours of childhood that neither could quite name.

  "Maybe one day," Valen murmured, looking down at the water, "I'll find something more than this. Something worth fighting for."

  Rose watched him, a quiet understanding in her blue eyes. "You will. But just remember, you don't have to go far to find it."

  The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of the estate's flowers with it. For a fleeting moment, Valen allowed himself to feel something other than the suffocating weight of his title. Perhaps Rose was right. Perhaps he didn't have to leave to find what he was searching for.

  Yet in that moment, something else tugged at him. A feeling that this peaceful life, this dream, would not last. The sense that things were about to change, and not for the better. The shadows of his future seemed to loom just beyond his reach, and for the first time in a long time, Valen wasn't sure if he was ready for them.

  As the sun set behind the horizon, casting a deep orange glow over the estate, Valen felt the faintest stir of doubt within himself. It wasn't about what he had, or what he could gain. It was about who he was meant to become.

  Valen wasn't sure if anyone, not even Rose, could give him the answer.

  They returned to the stables as the lanterns were being lit, the horse's breath misting in the cooling air. Valen handed the reins to the stable master with a nod of thanks, his legs stiff from the long ride. Rose walked beside him, her small maid's boots scuffing softly against the cobblestones as they crossed the inner courtyard toward the main house. At twelve, she had to take two steps for every one of his long strides to keep up.

  The great hall was bustling with the chaos of dinner preparations. Valen paused in the archway to stamp the dust from his boots, and nearly stumbled as a heavy hand clapped his shoulder.

  "Back from your gallop, little brother?" It was Aldric, the second-eldest, broad-shouldered and grinning, his red hair gleaming in the torchlight like their mother's, his brown eyes warm. At nineteen, he towered over Valen. He squeezed Valen's shoulder with genuine warmth. "You've got straw in your hair. Very noble."

  "Leave him alone," called Elara, the third-born, drifting down the staircase. She was blonde like their father, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she landed on Rose. "Or should I say, leave them alone? Honestly, Valen, does Rose ever leave your side? I'm starting to think she's sewn to your coat."

  "Perhaps she's his shadow," said Seren, the youngest sister, peeking around a pillar, her red hair, a shade deeper than Aldric's that was tumbling over her shoulders, her brown eyes bright. At nine, she was closer to Rose's age, and the two sometimes played together in the kitchens. "Shadow Rose. Always trailing behind."

  Rose flushed but lifted her chin. "Someone has to make sure he doesn't fall off his horse and break his neck."

  "And who makes sure you don't fall?" Aldric teased, ruffling Valen's blonde hair. "You two are like a pair of ducks. Quack, quack, waddling everywhere together."

  "Better ducks than geese," Valen retorted, heat creeping up his neck. "Geese are mean."

  "Oh, very sharp," laughed Castor, the eldest, looking up from a letter by the fireplace. At twenty-two, he was already being groomed to inherit. He was blonde like their father and Valen, his features more serious, his blue eyes respectful and familial. "The spare rides again. Father's been asking for you by the way. Something about the eastern accounts. Try not to let him bore you to death."

  "We'll see you at dinner," Elara said, drifting past. She paused to tweak Rose's apron strings. "And you, little duckling—try not to let him drag you into any more muddy ditches. Eddena will have our heads if you ruin another uniform."

  "More like she'll have your head," Aldric called over his shoulder, his red hair catching the light as he grinned. "Snap it right off with that look of hers. You know the one—like she's imagining how much vinegar it would take to dissolve a body."

  "She's not that bad," Rose protested, though her cheeks flushed. At twelve, she was still young enough to be wounded by jokes about Eddena, old enough to hide it.

  "Not that bad?" Seren gasped, clutching her pearls in mock horror, her red curls bouncing. "Rose, last week I saw her make a visiting baroness cry by just looking at her hat. The hat was perfectly nice! But Eddena stared at it like it had personally offended her ancestors."

  "She has high standards," Rose muttered.

  "She's got ice in her veins," Aldric corrected, ruffling Valen's blonde hair again. "I'm genuinely worried for you, little duckling. Does she ever smile? Has anyone checked? I imagine it would crack her face like a frozen lake."

  "Leave off, Aldric," Castor said, though his mouth twitched. "The woman is... efficient. But fair."

  "Efficient?" Elara laughed, tossing her blonde hair. "Castor, she terrifies you. I saw you take the long way around the east wing yesterday just to avoid passing her in the corridor."

  "I was taking the air," Castor said stiffly.

  "You were taking evasive action," said Seren, giggling behind her fan. She reached out and patted Rose's hand sympathetically. "We're only teasing. But if you ever need sanctuary from the Ice Queen of House Horus, come find me. I've got biscuits hidden in my room that even she can't freeze."

  "Go on, both of you," Aldric said, shooing them toward the stairs with a laugh. "Before she catches you dawdling and turns us all into statues for the garden. I rather like my nose where it is, thank you."

  They were kind to him. They always had been. To Aldric, Elara, Seren, and Castor, he was simply their younger brother—slightly removed from the line of succession, quieter perhaps, but one of them nonetheless. Whatever currents ran beneath the surface of House Horus, they had never touched the children. Valen was simply the fourteen-year-old brother who spent too much time in the library, who rode out too often with the maid's twelve-year-old daughter at his side, who sometimes caught their father's eye in a way that made the Lord look away quickly, as if he'd seen something that pained him.

  In the east drawing room, they found Lord Horus standing by the fire. The Lord was a broad-shouldered man with blonde hair streaked with silver and sharp blue eyes that matched Valen's. When he saw Valen, those eyes held something complicated—a softness, a regret, a weight that Valen had never understood but had learned not to question.

  "Valen," he said, setting down his glass. "Good ride?"

  "Yes, sir."

  His father stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You look tired. The ledgers can wait until morning. Don't let your mother work you past midnight again."

  Before Valen could answer, Lady Horus swept into the room. She was beautiful and cold as alabaster, her red hair piled high, her brown eyes flawless and severe. Her eyes settled on Valen, and for a fraction of a second, her composure cracked—a flicker of something that looked almost like resentment, or perhaps just exhaustion. As if his very presence in the room wearied her in a way she could never explain.

  "Valen," she said, her voice like silk dragged over ice. "I trust you've finished reviewing the eastern tenant accounts. We wouldn't want your… leisure activities to delay the quarterly reports."

  "They're finished," Valen said quietly.

  "Good." She turned to her husband, threading her arm through his with practiced grace. "My lord, our guests are arriving. Shall we?"

  Lord Horus gave Valen one last look—full of that strange, helpless affection—before allowing himself to be led away.

  Valen exhaled slowly. Rose was still beside him, her small figure a quiet anchor.

  "Come on," she whispered. "Let's get you upstairs before the dinner bell rings."

  They climbed the servant's staircase, avoiding the glittering crowds. The corridor to Valen's wing was dim, lit only by flickering sconces. It was there, outside his door, that they found her.

  Eddena stood waiting, her hands clasped before her, her tall, voluptuous frame rigid as iron. She had been polishing the banister; the cloth was still clutched in one white-knuckled fist, her black hair gleaming in the dim light, her blue eyes striking even in the shadows. When she saw them approach together, those blue eyes—so like her daughter's, so like Valen's own—narrowed slightly, but not with anger. With worry.

  "You're late," she said, her voice clipped.

  "The ride went longer than expected," Valen said, suddenly feeling like the child he technically still was.

  For a moment, she said nothing. Then, with a sharp glance up and down the empty corridor, she opened Valen's bedroom door. "Inside. Both of you."

  The room was warm, the fire banked low. Valen sat on the edge of his bed, exhausted. Rose lingered near the window, straightening a book here, a curtain there, giving them space. She was twelve, still learning the rhythms of service, still caught between childhood and the role she was expected to grow into.

  Eddena moved with efficient, economical motions. She pulled back the covers, fluffed the pillows with sharp snaps of linen, then turned to him. Her fingers softened—just barely—brushing his pale blonde hair back from his forehead to check for fever, a gesture that seemed to belong to some other version of herself, some life unlived. Her hands smelled of cedar polish and lavender, and for a moment, her touch lingered longer than propriety strictly allowed, as if she were memorizing the shape of his fourteen-year-old face.

  "You push too hard," she said quietly. "You exhaust yourself to prove you're invisible."

  Valen managed a weak smile. "Better than proving I'm a nuisance."

  She clicked her tongue, sharp in the quiet room. "You are not a nuisance. You are—" She stopped, her jaw tightening. "You are worth more than you know, Valen. More than this house. More than their indifference."

  Rose, by the window, stifled a giggle. "Usually she's an absolute ice queen," she whispered conspiratorially.

  Normally, that remark would have earned Rose a stern lecture on propriety. But tonight, Eddena didn't turn. She didn't snap or glare. She kept her blue eyes fixed on Valen, holding his gaze with an intensity that made his throat tighten—an intensity that felt like it should belong to someone closer than a servant, someone with more right to worry than a woman paid to straighten the sheets of a fourteen-year-old boy.

  "Thank you," Valen whispered.

  She leaned down. Her lips, usually pressed in a thin line, brushed his forehead in a kiss so light it might have been a moth's wing. It smelled of lavender soap and iron, and something else—something like grief held tightly in check.

  "Sleep," she commanded softly. "And do not dream of ledgers."

  She straightened, gathered Rose with a subtle tilt of her chin, and herded her twelve-year-old daughter toward the door. But at the threshold, she paused, looking back. For a heartbeat, the mask fell away entirely, and Valen saw the truth of her—the love that had to hide in glances and clenched fists, the pride she could never voice, the pain of watching him grow up as a ghost in his own home.

  Then the door closed, leaving him in the fire-lit quiet.

  Valen lay back, staring at the canopy above. The warmth of her kiss still lingered on his skin, a benediction, a ward against the dark. He closed his eyes, letting the day's weight sink him deep into the mattress, into the velvet dark of approaching sleep.

  I am wanted, he thought, clinging to the memory of her blue eyes. I am worth something.