They called her Lady Aeryn of House Merrow.
But in this house, she was more prisoner than daughter.
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the eastern parlor, catching on gold-trimmed gowns, polished silver spoons, and laughter that never included her.
Aeryn sat stiffly at the edge of the table, half a step behind her two brothers. Her seat was always slightly farther from the center. Her plate always arrived a little colder. No one said it aloud, but the message was clear.
She was not the heir. She was not the favorite. She was just the girl they couldn't marry off yet.
Teren was boasting again. Fourteen years old and already certain of his place in the world.
"Father says I'll be trained for the royal guard by spring," he grinned. "I'll outrank half the men at court by next year."
Aeryn bit back a comment. You haven't even mastered a saddle yet, she thought. But she didn't say it. It wouldn't matter if she did.
Her father—Lord Edran—barely looked at her, save to point out the wrinkle in her gown or the lack of powder on her face.
"You'll need better posture if we're to find a match for you," he said between sips of tea.
"I'm not looking for a match," she replied.
His teacup paused midair.
"A lady does not speak as if she has a choice."
Her mother didn't flinch. She hadn't for years.
---
Aeryn found herself outside, pacing the northern courtyard where the soldiers trained. She wasn't supposed to be here in the mornings. The house servants were instructed to guide her to the embroidery hall, or the solarium, or the music room—anywhere but here.
But she came anyway.
From behind the pillars, she watched them train. Swordplay, archery, formation drills.
Her fingers itched for a hilt.
She could still hear her father's voice in her head: A daughter can't inherit. A daughter can't lead. She should marry well and stay out of court business. And was whipped for "learning above her station." A noble daughter, they'd said, was meant to smile, not think. To sit in her boudoir and read poetry, not strategy.
But Aeryn wanted to study law, not submit to it.
She wanted to ride in the king's cavalry, not embroider their banners.
She wanted to speak, and be heard—not just tolerated.
She stared at the clouds, thinking of the palace beyond the mountains, where decisions were made, where power lived.
She wanted to earn her place, to fight, to protect something worth bleeding for.
She wanted to join the palace guard. Not as Lady Aeryn, but as someone the kingdom wouldn't dismiss with a bow and a marriage contract.
She already had a name picked out.
Aeron.
And if she timed it right—if she left before the Harvest Ball and slipped into the capital under that name—no one would ever know she came from silk and shame.
Just another orphan with a sword and a secret.
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