Mallowston, 2nd Moon, 23rd Day, 1624 Symfora Telos

  Malina was unsure how to greet her father’s return. Relief warred with resentment in her heart, each emotion vying for dominance as she watched him shuffle into their shared lodgings, his shoulders slumped and his once-proud gait reduced to a faltering shuffle. He looked dreadful—mud-spattered, hollow-eyed, and broken. Yet it was hard to pity him, knowing it was his ambition, his insatiable lust for power and glory, that had led their house to ruin. How could she feel anything but anger when his folly had cost them everything? Lands, titles, dignity. And the sting was made sharper still by the knowledge of who had brought them to this low state: Levi of Faywyn, a mere boy of twenty, known more for his soft-spoken manner than for any martial prowess.

  Her brother, Gilbert, led their father into the cramped quarters they now occupied, a shadow of the grandeur they had once enjoyed. The guest chambers of their own keep! Malina had thought her father’s failures could not humiliate them further, yet here they were, their family huddled in what could only be described as a servant’s quarters: a single narrow bed, a splintered table with a wobbly chair, and a chest barely large enough for a servant’s wardrobe. The walls were unadorned stone, cold and barren, and the floor was strewn with straw meant to provide some semblance of warmth. The place smelled faintly of mildew and despair. Malina wrinkled her nose as her father collapsed onto the bed, the foul stench of his unwashed form filling the room.

  Without a word, she grabbed the water pail at her mother’s feet and stalked out, her steps brisk with indignation. Fetching water was a chore she had never thought to undertake herself, but circumstances left her no choice. She cursed the weight of the full bucket as she carried it back, the handle biting into her hands, and resolved never again to underestimate the strength of the keep’s scullery maids.

  When she returned, voices rose from within, sharp and heated.

  “You shall not surrender my daughter to that wretch!” her mother’s voice cut through the air, fierce and trembling with fury. “I will not allow it, do you hear me? I will not!”

  “We have no choice, Annit,” her father rasped, his voice weak yet desperate. Malina froze at the threshold, her blood turning cold. Surrender me? she thought, her heart pounding.

  “You shall not!” her mother persisted, clutching Gilbert’s wrist as if drawing strength from her son. “Have you forgotten what that monster did to our boy? Look at him!” She caressed Gilbert’s cheek, tears brimming in her eyes. “Weeks of torment, and now he’s reduced to this—a trembling shadow of the son we once knew. And you would hand over Malina to the same fiend? He is no man! He is a beast, as cruel and depraved as his father before him!”

  “I know!” her father shouted, rising from his seat, his own eyes wet with anguish. “I know what he is! Do you think I don’t? But what choice do we have, Annit? What would you have me do? He will strip us of our titles, our lives, regardless. For ten years, we are to be his serfs if he to have his way. Do you not understand? His serfs. I am doing this to protect her, to protect all of us!”

  Malina stepped inside, her legs trembling. “Protect me?” she asked, her voice a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “By handing me over to the man who reduced my brother to this?”

  Her father slumped back into the chair, his face pale and drawn. “I am doing what I must,” he said softly. “Perhaps... perhaps you can win his favour. Perhaps he will see your worth.”

  Malina’s breath caught in her throat, tears brimming in her eyes. “You would sell me,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “like a common whore, to save yourself from a fate you brought upon us?”

  Her father said nothing. His silence was answer enough. With a cry of despair, Malina flung the pail to the ground, the water spilling across the floor in a muddy puddle. She turned and ran, blind to her surroundings, her tears blurring her vision.

  She fled through the corridors of the keep, her feet carrying her to a place she did not know, until she collided with something solid. Someone. A hand steadied her, firm and unyielding, and she looked up into eyes that froze her in place.

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  They were pale as sea glass, cool and unfeeling, yet arrestingly beautiful. A face followed—sharp, angular, framed by a fall of dark hair. The beast.

  “Malina,” Levi said, his voice soft yet tinged with curiosity. “Are you lost?”

  She stepped back, glaring up at him, her chest heaving. “You... monster,” she hissed, her voice shaking with equal parts fear and fury.

  The young lord tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Return to your mother,” he said calmly. “I will summon you when I require your presence.” With that, he turned and began to walk away.

  Something in Malina snapped. She lunged forward, seizing his arm and spinning him around. “You wish to see me grovel before you, don’t you?” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “To break me as you did my brother. Very well. Take me, then. Take all of me!” Her trembling hands went to the ties of her bodice, loosening them with frantic, jerking motions. “Defile me as you will! At least then you will have the satisfaction you crave!”

  The beast raised a curious brow, his lips curving into a faint, playful smile. “Upon what bed?” he asked coolly. “Shall I debase myself by sarding you on this filthy floor as some baseborn guard would a scullery maid? Or perhaps you fancy taking me upon my writing table?” He gestured toward the desk behind him. “You do have quite the imagination.”

  Malina paled momentarily at the beast's words before her countenance flushed with fiery indignation. "Do as you will, My Lord," she retorted, cynical. "I care not how you choose to indulge in the debased pleasures that creatures of your kind find so gratifying!"

  The beast paused, then chuckled. "Debased pleasures, she does say," he chortled,freeing himself of her grasp. His gaze remained fixed upon her, yet curiously, he showed no interest in her naked form. He regarded her with the same fascination as a child beholding a peculiar trinket found along the wayside.

  "...What ails you?" Malina asked, suddenly feeling uneasy under the scrutiny of the beast. "Am I not fair enough for you? Or art you but an impotent little tyrant beneath all your cruelty and sadism?"

  The earl shook his head, smiling still. “Go to your mother,” he said again, his tone quiet yet firm. “I shall summon you when I require your presence.” Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving her standing there, trembling and tear-streaked, her bodice half-undone.

  Alone in the chamber, she sank to her knees, her body wracked with silent sobs. The cold stone beneath her offered no comfort, and the future stretched before her, dark and unforgiving.

  "My lord," Lancelot said as he stepped into the chamber, his voice steady but tinged with relief. His eyes fell upon the duke, standing by the window, his figure framed by the pale light of the moon. "I scarce believed Ser Carter's tidings when he spoke of your return. Yet here you stand. It gladdens my heart to see you hale."

  Aden turned from the window, a faint smile curling his lips. "And I am equally gladdened to see you in good health, old friend."

  "The journey must have taxed you greatly," Lancelot continued, stepping closer. "How fare you, my lord? And what of Their Majesties? I have not yet had the chance to offer them my respects."

  "We fare well enough," Aden replied, his tone light. "Though Vaiu saw fit to waylay us on our journey, she proved herself a gracious hostess in the end. As for the boy..." He paused, his smile deepening. "He tells me you’ve taken up the task of shaping his fledgling army. How do matters stand?"

  "Strangely well, my lord," Lancelot answered with a wry grin. "Though they are yet raw and green, the men have promise. Challenges abound, as is to be expected, but I am pleased by their progress. A small contingent is preparing to march as we speak. The young lord intends to parley with the Timels, seeking to secure certain concessions."

  "I have heard as much," Aden said, nodding slowly. "For now, I would have you continue as you have. Officially, I am yet to return, and it would be prudent to let that fiction linger."

  Lancelot frowned slightly. "Would you entrust the young lord with governance in your stead, my lord?"

  "Aye," Aden said, his voice calm but firm. "The boy must learn to rule, and this is as good an opportunity as any. He has shown a surprising interest in governance of late. It would be unwise to quash his ambition. I will guide him where needed, but I mean to let him steer the ship for now. Besides," he added, his gaze distant, "I am curious to see the fruits of his labour. His deeds during my absence have reached even my ears."

  "As you command, my lord," Lancelot said, inclining his head.

  "You take no issue with serving him?" Aden asked, his tone tinged with curiosity. "I had thought you might resist, given his youth."

  Lancelot smiled faintly. "The young lord has earned his place, my lord. He has proven his worth more than once. And beyond that, I owe him my life. On the night of Sean's rebellion, it was his intervention that spared me from certain death. For that alone, I would follow him without hesitation."

  Aden regarded Lancelot for a long moment before nodding. "You are a good man, Lancelot. Go now and rest. We shall meet at dawn to deliberate upon Bycrest and the matters it entails."

  "As you will, my lord," Lancelot said, bowing deeply before retreating from the chamber.