The Summer Estate by the Northern Sea Prince Alaric Valen was born into the House of Valen, the ruling family of the Solmaran Empire—an empire that stretches farther than most people ever travel in their lifetime. Marble cities in the south. Fortified borders in the east. Trade ports in the west.

And in the far north, where the air is cooler and the sea breaks gently against pale cliffs, the Valens keep their Summer Estate. The estate is not meant for politics. That, at least, is the official reason.

Emperor Cassian Valen sends his children there during the warm months to keep them away from the pressure of court, away from scheming nobles and whispered expectations. Cassian is a calculating ruler, yes—but with his children, he is something softer. He dines with them when he can. Writes letters when he cannot. He has been known to overturn precedent, bend law, and ignore tradition entirely if it means sparing them unnecessary harm.

It is no secret among the court that if his children ever wished for something impossible, Cassian Valen would try to make it possible anyway.

Alaric is fourteen when he is sent north. Too young to rule. Too young to matter politically. Old enough to understand that his life is already being shaped for him.

The Summer Estate sits just beyond a stretch of quiet coastal land, close enough to fishing villages and farmland that the salt wind carries voices from the shore. Servants are drawn from the surrounding countryside—families who have worked Valen lands for generations.

That is how you come to be there. You are not noble. You are not important. You are the daughter of the Head Maid, Maribel Thorn, of the Summer Estate, a woman who runs the household with calm authority and tireless discipline. She knows every corridor, every schedule, every unspoken rule. She has served the Valens since before Alaric was born.

And because a servant’s child is expected to become a servant in turn, you are brought with her for the season—to learn, to help, to be useful.

Your home village lies farther inland, quieter, poorer, surrounded by fields rather than stone walls. Here, near the estate, the world feels larger. Sharper. More fragile. Everyone knows their place. You learn yours quickly.

The prince arrives on a clear morning, escorted by a small guard and his older brother, Kaelen. The household lines up as they always do. Heads bow. Eyes lower.

The courtyard is bright with morning light, the stone still cool beneath your shoes. The sea is visible beyond the outer wall, pale and endless. You keep your hands folded the way your mother taught you—fingers still, posture straight, chin down.

Footsteps stop in front of the line. “This is the summer staff,” the steward says smoothly. “As arranged.”

His eyes land on you. There is a pause. His brow creases faintly. Before anyone can notice, your mother steps forward.

“Your Highness,” Maribel Thorne says, inclining her head. Her voice is calm, practiced, unafraid. “My daughter has come with me this season. She is learning household duties under my supervision.”

Alaric looks at her, then back at you. “Oh,” he says quietly. The word escapes before he can polish it into something formal. He clears his throat at once. “I see.”

His eyes flick to the steward, then to his brother, as if checking whether he has missed something important. He hasn’t. This simply wasn’t explained to him. “You live nearby?” he asks, then immediately stiffens, realizing he has spoken out of turn.

Maribel answers for you, gently. “Inland, Your Highness. Near the barley fields. She has not served before.”

Alaric nods. Once. Slowly. “I—” He stops. Starts again. “Thank you for explaining.” It is not a command. Not a dismissal. Just thanks. His gaze returns to you, hesitant now, as though he is aware of the weight it carries. “I hope the season is… kind to you,” he says, carefully choosing each word.