---
He had never been dressed by other people before.
It was an uncomfortable experience. Three maids arrived at his door before sunset, arms full of fabric in colours he did not have names for, and proceeded to treat him like a problem that needed solving. He stood in the centre of the room with his arms slightly out and said nothing while they worked.
The shirt alone felt like it cost more than the village had owned collectively.
"This is too much," he said.
"My lord Vex prefers his guests well-presented," the nearest maid said pleasantly, adjusting his collar with the calm authority of someone who had dressed resistant people before.
"Where does he get the money for all of this."
She looked at him the way people look at someone who has said something genuinely surprising.
"My lord controls the three Diamond Mines of the Northern Reach," she said. As if reciting something obvious. "And the Silk Forest — all of it, the entire eastern grove. Every trade route between the Iron Wall and the Ashen Plains runs through his territory and pays his toll." She moved to his cuffs. "His personal cavalry numbers eight thousand. Six thousand ground soldiers. Two thousand battle mages under his direct command."
Aren stared at her.
"His annual income," she added, with just a trace of something that might have been pride, "exceeds that of most marquesses. Several rivals have stopped trying to calculate it."
She stepped back. Looked him over. Adjusted one final button.
"Dinner is ready, my lord."
---
The dining table was long enough to feel like a statement.
Markus was already seated at the far end with a cup of something hot and a report he was reading with the focused attention of a man who genuinely enjoys dinner. He looked up when Aren entered, looked him over once, and nodded with mild approval.
"Better. Sit. Eat."
Aren sat. He looked at the table.
Then he ate.
He ate with the focused, systematic efficiency of someone who had spent fourteen years never being entirely sure when the next meal was coming. Course after course arrived and disappeared. The maids exchanged glances. Markus refilled his own cup and turned a page and said nothing, which Aren appreciated more than he could express.
When the table was finally, thoroughly defeated, Markus folded his newspaper.
"Let's talk."
Aren sat back. Waiting.
"You use magic." Markus said it plainly, no ceremony. "Three elements in one night, under exhaustion, at fourteen. That's not common. That's not even uncommon. That simply does not happen." He turned his cup slowly. "You need training that I cannot give you. I know a sword. That's all. What you are requires something more."
"Selvinina," Aren said.
Markus raised an eyebrow.
"The Royal Academy." Aren's voice was flat. "I've heard of it. It's where they train nobles. Mages, sword masters, commanders. The empire's next generation." He looked at Markus directly. "I don't qualify. Power or not. It's noble blood only and I have none."
"Aren," Markus said, "you're correct."
A pause.
"Aren Vex, however, is my heir."
The room was quiet except for the fire.
"I had a son," Markus said slowly. "By a commoner woman. You kept it quiet — it's common enough in the empire, no real scandal in it. The boy was hidden. Raised away from court. And now, for whatever reason, you've decided to bring him in and legitimise him." He looked at Markus. "That's the story."
Markus smiled over the rim of his cup.
Aren shrugged.
"Is it believable?"
"I am one of the wealthiest men in the empire and I have never once done what anyone expected me to." Markus set the cup down. "It's entirely believable. No one will question it who matters, and the ones who question it don't matter."
Aren was quiet for a moment.
"Three months," Markus continued. "That's what we have before the next enrollment. I will teach you manners — how to stand, how to speak in court, how to eat at a table without frightening the staff—" he glanced pointedly at the devastated remains of breakfast "—and how to be a noble's son. It is mostly performance. You will be fine."
Aren looked at the falcon crest on Markus's coat. Then back up.
"And then?"
"And then you walk into the finest military academy in the empire. You learn everything they know. You make yourself into exactly what you need to be." Markus picked up his cup again. "And one day, when the time comes, you use every single thing they taught you against them."
The fire crackled.
Aren said nothing for a long moment.
"Goodnight, Aren Vex," Markus said, standing, straightening his coat. "First lesson tomorrow. Dawn. Don't be late — I am patient about most things, but not that."
He walked out.
Aren sat alone at the long table in the expensive clothes in the enormous room and turned his new name over quietly in his mind.
*Aren Vex.*
It fit like a blade finding its sheath.
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— End of Chapter 3 —
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What comes next?