The estate loomed out of the dark like a sleeping giant, carved from the very black rock of the Northern mountains. As the heavy oak doors swung open, Maja clutched Gael tighter. The foyer was filled with light from a massive chandelier, and standing there, like a firing squad of beauty and privilege, were Othella's children. The carriage door opened, and the freezing air was replaced by the scent of pine, beeswax, and old money. Lady Othella stepped out first, her heels clicking rhythmically on the marble. Maja followed, her boots caked in North-country slush, feeling every bit the "Ssyelman rat" the guard had called her. Caspian, the eldest and the heir, stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over Maja's tattered tunic before landing on the child in her arms. His expression didn't soften; if anything, his jaw tightened.
"Mother," Caspian's voice was a low rumble that echoed in the vast hall. "The servants told us you were bringing a 'guest.' You neglected to mention she was a Ssyelma. And that she brought... baggage."
He looked at Gael as if the baby were a ticking bomb.
"She is a ward of this house now, Caspian," Othella said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And you will treat her as such."
Kaelen, the second eldest son leaned against a stone pillar, his hand resting habitually on the hilt of his sword. "A ward? Or a charity project? We are at the brink of another border skirmish, and you bring the enemy into our foyer to sleep under our roof?"
Maja stood her ground. Her legs were shaking from exhaustion, but she lifted her chin, meeting Kaelen's icy gaze. "I am no one's project," she rasped, her voice sounding small in the grand hall. "And I am no one's enemy. I am just a mother who wants her daughter to see tomorrow."
The youngest, Lucian, let out a soft, amused whistle. "She has teeth, Caspian. I like her already."
"Where is Elara?", Lady Othella asked turning away from the trio.
"In her room, Mother," Lucian answered, his gaze still pinned on Maja as if he expected her to steal the chandelier. "She found the idea of a Ssyelman guest... distressing."
"She will get over it," Othella said firmly. She turned to a nearby servant. "Take Maja and the child to the East Wing. The room adjoining the nursery. See that they are fed and bathed."
As Maja was led up the sweeping stone staircase, she felt the weight of three pairs of eyes on her back. Lucian's were curious, Kaelen's were suspicious, but Caspian's felt like a brand—heavy, hot, and judgmental.
They reached the second landing when a door flew open. A girl with hair the color of spun moonlight and a silk robe that cost more than a year of Maja's labor stepped out. This was Elara. She didn't look distressed; she looked offended.
"Is that it?" Elara asked, pointing a manicured finger at Maja. "The creature that cost us the Northern Trade Charter?"
Maja didn't stay to answer. She followed the servant into the East Wing.
The East Wing was a labyrinth of silent hallways and towering arched windows that looked out over the jagged peaks of the North. The servant—a quiet woman with a pinched face—walked three paces ahead of Maja, her keys jingling like a funeral dirge.
"The Lady Othella does not permit candles to be left burning after midnight," the servant muttered, pushing open a heavy mahogany door. "And the child is not to wander the gallery. The statues are older than your bloodline; do not let her touch them."
Maja didn't answer. She stepped into the room and stopped. It was larger than the entire inn she had just fled. A fire crackled in a hearth of white marble, and the bed—draped in heavy, forest-green velvet—looked soft enough to drown in.
The servant left without a second glance, the lock clicking firmly into place. Maja didn't feel like a guest. She felt like a prisoner in a gilded box.
"We are here, Gael," Maja whispered, her voice trembling as she finally unwrapped the child from her tattered shawl. She sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking beneath her. For a long time, she simply sat in the orange glow of the fire, watching Gael's chest rise and fall in a deep, exhausted sleep.
Her mind drifted to the foyer. To the three sons.
Caspian had looked at her with a hatred that felt personal, as if her very existence was an insult to his mountains. Kaelen had looked at her like a soldier looks at a target. But Lucian... his smile had been the most dangerous of all.
Restless, Maja stood up. She needed to see the perimeter. She needed to know how she would run if the sons decided to override their mother's mercy. She walked to the window and pulled back the heavy drapes.
Below, in the moonlit courtyard, a figure was moving.
It was Caspian. He was stripped to his shirt sleeves despite the freezing wind, a training sword in his hand. He moved with a brutal, rhythmic grace, the blade whistling through the air as he struck a wooden post. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Every strike was precise. Every movement was filled with a suppressed rage.
Suddenly, as if feeling her gaze, Caspian stopped. He didn't turn his head, but his shoulders went rigid. He looked up, his icy blue eyes locking onto Maja's window. Even from the second story, she could see the hard set of his jaw. He didn't wave, and he didn't look away. He stood there in the snow, the steam rising from his skin, watching the Ssyelman girl who had just cost his family a fortune.
Maja let the curtain fall, her heart hammering.
Work, learn, and live, Othella had said. But as Maja looked at the locked door and then back at the window, she realized that 'living' in Vaelenridge was going
to be its own kind of war.