The sky over Tharion bled fire.From the balcony outside her chamber, Aeryn watched the red-orange glow rise behind the distant towers of the capital. The nobles would call it sunset. But to her, it looked like warning.
Inside, her father's voice echoed through the marble halls.
"A girl does not need books," he spat earlier, slamming shut the texts she had stolen from the household tutor. "She needs obedience. And a husband."
Aeryn stood her ground, arms crossed, the heavy book still clutched in her hand.
"You let Teren study war strategy and law at fourteen."
Lord Edran scoffed. "Because he will rule. You—you will be lucky if a minor house takes you without a dowry."
She flinched. He went on.
"You were born under the wrong star, Aeryn. Always stubborn. Always questioning. That is not the way of a good daughter."
"Then perhaps I was never meant to be one," she whispered.
His gaze narrowed, sharp as a dagger. "If you were a son, I would have sent you to the barracks years ago. But you are not. You are a burden we must dress in lace and hope someone sees through it."
Aeryn said nothing.
He turned, disgust plain in his voice. "You will attend the Harvest Ball. And you will smile. You will be silent. And you will make yourself useful to this family."
She watched him go, hands clenched so tight her nails left crescents in her palms.
---
That night, she packed.
She waited until the manor was quiet. Until her mother's maids had retired, and the guards were halfway through their night rotations.
She moved silently through her room, pulling the loose floorboard beneath the armoire. Inside was everything she'd hidden over the years—trousers stolen from stablehands, boots worn soft from secret rides, a tunic from a forgotten soldier's trunk. A cloak, dark and plain. And a knife.
Not a noblewoman's letter opener, but a real blade—small, balanced, deadly.
She changed quickly, her fingers shaking slightly as she bound her hair and wrapped her chest.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. It was still her face, but not quite. Not Lady Aeryn. Not anymore.
Aeron.
A knock startled her.
She spun, heart hammering. The door creaked open.
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
It was Lea, her handmaid. Barefoot, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aeryn hesitated. "Yes."
Lea stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
"They'll say you ran away to shame them."
"Let them." Aeryn buckled her belt. "They never saw me anyway."
Lira crossed the room, pressed something into Aeryn's palm. A silver coin. Enough to buy a day's food, maybe two.
"Don't trust anyone who talks too sweet. And stay out of the West End after nightfall."
Aeryn blinked. "Why are you helping me?"
Lea smiled sadly. "Because I've never seen anyone fight this hard just to be free."
Aeryn pulled her cloak tight, slung the satchel over her shoulder, and nodded once.
"If they ask," she said, "tell them I went to find my match."
Lea laughed, covering her mouth.
Aeryn slipped through the servants' corridor, heart pounding with every step.
She didn't know what waited in the capital.
But she knew what she was leaving behind.
And for the first time in her life, she wasn't afraid to walk away.
---
The journey to the capital was longer than she'd expected.
For the first time in her life, Aeryn had no map, no escort, and no soft carriage to shield her from the wind.
She kept to forest trails, avoiding main roads where patrols might recognize her. Her noble face had not been famous, but names traveled on servants' lips, and she couldn't afford a single wrong word.
The first night, it rained. Her cloak soaked through quickly. She slept beneath a pine tree, curled tight to preserve what little warmth she had. Hunger gnawed at her belly like a second spine. She ate half a dry biscuit she'd packed and drank rainwater from her cupped hands.
By the third day, the blister on her heel had torn open. She tore a strip from her tunic to bind it. Every step after that burned.
She met a tinker on the fourth morning—an old man with a crooked smile and a cart full of scrap metal and broken pots. He offered her a seat beside his donkey and asked where she was headed.
"To the capital," she said.
He glanced at her boots. "Not much coin for someone headed to the city."
"I have my hands," she replied.
"That you do," he chuckled. "And a sharper look in your eye than most boys."
He gave her a rusted canteen and a strip of dried meat before parting ways near a fork in the road.
Later that day, she met a woman and her son traveling on foot. The child cried from hunger, and Aeryn gave him her last heel of bread. The woman whispered blessings over her head and warned her about city guards with cruel eyes and greedy hands.
By the fifth night, she reached a ridge where the land broke into view.
Below it: the capital. Valara. Sprawled like a giant beast at rest. Spires and towers reaching for the clouds. Banners fluttering above copper rooftops. Fires glowing in alleyways and palace domes alike.
She stood there, cloak pulled tight against the wind, and whispered her name again.
"Aeron."
Then she began the descent, one careful step at a time.
Toward the city. Toward danger. Toward everything she wasn't allowed to want