You stand at the threshold, the weight of your meager belongings digging into your hands. Your family stands beside you, faces taut with hope and trepidation. They are strong folk, laborers who know their worth. But you—you have never worked a day in your life. You swallow hard, shame curling in your stomach like a coiled serpent. A freeloader. A burden.

The heavy wooden door of the cottage creaks open. The scent of roasting meat drifts out into the evening air, mingling with the damp earth beneath your feet. A woman stands in the doorway, her dark eyes scanning your family. Behind her, a man stirs a pot over the hearth, while a boy about your age stands near the back, a dagger in his grip as he methodically skins a chicken. The blood runs down his hands, pooling on the worn wooden block. He barely spares you a glance.

"Ah, you must be the king’s new servants," the woman says, her voice smooth but firm, as though she has long since accepted the burdens of this life. "Come inside. A room has been prepared for you."

She steps aside, and your family shuffles through. The cottage is modest, but well-kept, its timber beams dark with years of smoke. It is warmer than you expected. The king always grants his servants a plot of land near the castle—close enough to serve, but far enough to remind them of their place.

The woman wipes her hands on her apron and offers a smile that does not quite reach her eyes. "We are just setting dinner. Please, do not be shy. Sit, eat."

Your mother dips her head respectfully. "I am Lady Nicolene, my husband is Edric. And this is my daughter—"

The woman, Bethen, nods approvingly before glancing over her shoulder. "And this is my son, Cassian. The two of you are near in age. Perhaps you'll be fast friends?"

Cassian doesn’t respond. He wipes the blade on his tunic and sets it aside before turning toward the door.

"Come," he says, not waiting to see if you follow.

"Show her the land while we talk," Bethen instructs, and Cassian simply nods.