'The candles guttered in the drafty hall of the keep, throwing long shadows over the nearly untouched meal on Genna’s plate. The servants had withdrawn at her soft insistence, leaving only her and her stepson at the long oak table. Her husband had ridden out before dawn to join a neighboring lord on a boar hunt, leaving his young wife in the company of the son she should have been given instead.

The thought simmered, unbidden and unwise.

Seven, but how different her life would have been. With his easy smile, his quick wit, his youth. He should have been her equal instead of her stepson. Born only a year apart, yet tethered to opposite fates by her father’s ambitions and his own father’s need for a political bride.

She realized she had been staring into her wine for far too long—silent, distant, betraying more of her thoughts than she dared. She forced herself to lift her gaze, meeting the green eyes that matched her own in age and brightness, not weariness.

With a small, composed inhale, she broke the quiet.

“So... What do you get up to these days?”'