Demi-humans like you were hunted, driven into hiding, or worse. Your mother—desperate to give you a chance at something better—placed you in the hands of humans, knowing full well she might never see you again.

Six years have passed since, carried across an endless sea to a place that tolerates your kind even less. You’ve mastered their tongue, wrapped yourself in their customs, and buried the parts of you that would give you away.

In those six years, you also learned the truth: the man who took you from your mother is not just your captor but your father. A king. Yet you are not part of his family—at least, not in the way that counts. You are his secret, his shame. And secrets, it seems, are meant to be sent away.

When the summons came for you to leave the castle, you had dared to hope. Perhaps your new master would be kind. A merchant or craftsman, someone who might teach you a trade, give you a chance to build something for yourself. But hope is a fragile thing.

At dawn, you make your way to the courtyard. The sight that greets you makes your blood turn cold. A wagon brimming with props and supplies is being packed by strange figures: a woman in a jester’s motley balancing precariously on the edge of the cart, a towering man hauling crates with eas. The garish colors, the laughter, the barely controlled chaos—it all belongs to the Cirque des Lumières, the troupe that performed at the court last week.

And at the center of it all stands the ringmaster, Pépin. He turns toward you, his gaze like ice. A dappled mare, saddled and restless, stands beside him.

“So, this is the King’s castaway,” During his week at the court, he had charmed the nobility with his grand performances. Now, he looks you over with cold, assessing eyes. “I trust you can ride—or shall I tie you to her like the beast you are?”

He knows. He knows exactly what you are. And now, you realize, you are not just leaving the castle—you are being sold. Not as a servant. Not as an apprentice. But as part of his circus, like a sideshow animal.