"Finally, some privacy."

Lord Zier mused airily as he and Meya shared the shade of a large oak tree standing sentry at the castle's town gate, overseeing the charity tent in uneasy silence. Meya glanced at his sly, knowing grin, then swiftly turned her focus to the rowdy marquee.

The castle's almoner stood under the crimson canvas, decked out in a crimson robe falling to his ankles, hurriedly ladling stew from an enormous pot into all sorts of containers (Meya could've sworn she saw some grandma with a flower vase). Half a dozen castle servants flanked him, following suit.

A long table splattered with dollops of stew separated the castle workers from the poor and the crippled. Basked by the sun, the ragged commoners stood in a dozen lines, waiting anxiously with their 'bowls.'

The stew wasn't the usual leftovers-thrown-in-a-vat but newly cooked, simmering merrily over a freshly-dug hearth. It really was a special charity tent.

Something buzzed about Meya's ear as if Zier was saying something else. But, there was a redheaded, freckle-faced girl bobbing among the crowd. The sight of her whisked Meya to the past.

Whenever Mum ran out of coppers for breakfast, one of the Hild children would walk to the castle and line up for leftovers. Marin would grab a pot and come home with it filled to the brim without having to line up. Meya would be lucky to make it back with some soup left in her bowl.

"Ahem!"

Meya jolted out of her reverie. She whipped around to find a disgruntled Zier and placated him with an apologetic grin.

"Yes, my lord?"

Zier wrinkled his nose.

"Just Zier, please." He rolled his eyes and repeated, "As I was asking, how shall I address you? Normally, I'd use fair maiden or Lady Arinel, but seeing as you're neither fair nor maiden nor Lady Arinel?"

Zier leaned in, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Meya shot a covert glance at the almoner. Seeing him still busy rationing stew, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth,

"I may not be fair nor Lady Arinel, but I'm still a maiden."

"And I might have believed that," Zier cocked his head, sly grin growing even wider, "If it didn't so happen Father had Simon and Christopher glue their ears to your door that First Night, and now, pretty much the whole castle's heard what they heard."

As Meya gawked, Zier counted on his fingers, "To summarize, mostly you screaming my brother's name, how well-endowed he is, several words I'm not allowed to utter, and a few Fredas here and there."

Meya's cheeks burned red-hot. Zier topped it off with a cheeky grin. Events of that night flashed before her eyes, and she felt like drowning her head in the almoner's boiling soup vat.

It was embarrassing enough waking up in the middle of the night and hearing Mum and Dad making love on the other side of your one-room cottage, but this?

"W-w-why haven't your parents said anything?" Meya spluttered, "I keep telling them we haven't done it!"

"They will. Once the guests have left." Zier cocked his head, his smile sliding off and leaving behind a vacant expression. He shrugged at Meya's raised eyebrows, "Of course, they want grandchildren, but Lexi's dead against it. You should've heard them quarreling in Father's study."

"Lord Coris just told me he's barren." Meya argued, a wary frown on her brows. Zier tilted his head,

"He may or may not be. No one can prove that, can they?" He leaned ever closer, poring deep into Meya's wide, fearful eyes, then drew back and jammed his hand down his cloak pocket, "He's never slept with anyone before, so be safe and Silfum up, Maiden-My-Foot."

He tossed an oblong package wrapped in crumpled brown paper into Meya's fumbling fingers. The sharp scent of herbs mingled with the dull smell of moldy paper as the raised whorls of a spiral pattern pressed against her palms—Silfum Candles. Meya raised an eyebrow at Zier.

"It's from Arinel. You're a commoner, Lexi's a nobleman. A babe would complicate matters. No offense." He added with another shrug.

"None taken." Meya muttered with a scoff as she stuffed the candles into her dress pocket. Zier smirked, then steered the topic back on course,

"So, now that we're on the same page, how should I address you?"

"Just Meya, milord." Meya waved it aside, having more pressing matters on her mind, "But that aside, you've met Lady Arinel. Have you two discussed what we're gunna do now that Gillian's gone?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Don't worry, everything stays the way it is." Zier raised two calming hands as if Meya were overreacting, "Arinel said she doesn't feel worthy of her title yet, so you can keep it for now."

Meya considered it, then narrowed her eyes, suspicious,

"Lady Arinel is a woman of honor, so I kinda expected that. But what about you?" Zier jolted, and Meya took the chance to corner him, "You're gunna let your sister-in-law be a maid for the rest of her life? You dun want her to marry Lord Coris that much?"

Zier faltered, mouthing soundlessly. The realization hit Meya like a bolt out of the blue. Eyes flared wide, she gazed off unseeing into the distance, nodding slowly.

"I see. 'Twas why you tried to steal The Axel for Baron Graye, wasn't it?" A cold smile crept onto her lips as she eyed the younger Hadrian,

"Lord Crosset only wanted Lord Coris as his in-law for your family's power. You hoped, if The Axel was taken from Hadrian, he wouldn't force Lady Arinel to marry Lord Coris no more."

Zier pursed his lips into a line, his once ruddy cheeks for once pale as his brother's. Meya weathered the silence, eyes narrowed as if to bore holes into his chiseled profile dabbed by the leaf-shaped shadows. Just when Meya contemplated giving him a nudge, his lips moved,

"She's a year older than me. And I'm the second-born. The spare." He said, his voice quiet. His bright blue eyes were bitter like she had never seen—No, she'd seen it once, last night.

"Two reasons I couldn't marry her, and there's nothing in the three lands I could do to change them. Age isn't that big a deal if you don't make it so, of course, but if only..."

He trailed away as if he'd strangled the air out of his voice. Meya knew what he'd been bursting to speak, for she'd silently wished the same upon her brothers and sisters on particularly harsh days.

If only they were never born.

Such a thought would bring forth tremendous guilt but, at the same time, lift the weight of a suffocating secret. For a moment, the embittered ones basked in the shared glory of jealousy, then Zier shook his head out of it,

"Anyway, Christopher's taking Arinel to see Bishop Riddell today. I've never seen her so giddy." Zier said, his voice chipper as he bounced on the balls of his feet. His eyes wandered dreamily into space, flooded with pictures of his sweetheart,

"Ah, Ari...she loves tinkering with her alchemy sets. She couldn't so much as touch one as a lady, considering how her mother died."

He concluded cryptically, a troubled look on his handsome face. Meya couldn't tamp down her curiosity.

"How?" He glanced her way, his bright blue eyes twinkling slyly. At her scowl, he snickered, then obliged,

"Arinel's mother was a peasant maid in the alchemy labs of Crosset Castle, then old Lord Crosset took a fancy to her. You know the pattern," He shrugged, "She and her master were boiling vitriol when the lab caught fire. They cut Arinel out of her before she died."

Meya scrunched her face at the terrifying tale. Mum lost her voice having Meya. Deke's mother lost her dignity having Deke. Jezia's mother lost her life having Jezia. And Arinel's mother got cleaved in half. If the creation of life was indeed Freda's dearest mission like them priests were preaching, then the goddess was doing a dang crappy job of it.

"And Lady Arinel can't get over it?" Meya whispered as if in mourning, having finished her daily entry to the heresy diary. Zier blew a melancholic sigh.

"They were just experimenting for a potion to make fruits ripe. She shouldn't have to die young like that." He shook his head, adding with a wry grin, "Only consolation was, she seemed to be sleeping peacefully."

"And you're gunna let Lady Arinel follow in her footsteps!?" Meya gawked, but Zier didn't seem unduly worried for his sweetheart.

"She won't be following blindly, will she? Alchemists who came before marked out sinkholes and quicksand with their lives. Hadrian's labs now are much better than Crosset's seventeen years ago. She'll be fine." He patted Meya's shoulder, his hand warm and slightly sweaty,

"But, back to your question. You have the full support of Arinel and I, so the rest is up to you. Do you still want to be Lady Hadrian?"

Meya blinked in astonishment as his eyes locked hers in a vice-like grip,

"But what about Lord Coris?" Zier cocked his head. Somehow, this seemed to bother him just as much as the chance of his beloved Ari being blown to smithereens.

"You two get along well in bed and out. And he seems happy with you as his wife. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, can it?"

Zier suggested, his face deadpan save for a raised eyebrow. Although all her life Meya had always taken it upon herself to make her own choices, even when there wasn't supposed to be any, more often than not to dire consequences, this time she was inexplicably torn.

Was it because, up until now, her goals had been clear-cut—earn as much gold as possible and make Dad proud? And her means had been straightforward—exploit any loopholes she could find?

This time, it was different. She didn't do it for gold nor Dad's approval—she did it for her own life, for the lives of twenty others.

So, now that the threat had passed, exactly what was she still doing all this for? Claiming a name that should never have been hers. Giving away her virginity to a dying man she barely knew. Taking on a role she hadn't the slightest idea how to fill.

Greeneyes. Dragons. Nostra. The Axel. Heists. Kidnappings. She was tangling herself in a mystery much larger than her puny, worthless life. Three days ago, Meya was sure she knew what she had taken on, but now Dockar's words haunted her, and she realized she'd barely scratched the surface.

Dad's twisted face flashed past her eyes, his mouth yawning wide as he bellowed,

"You leave, we get your fine back. And I accepted!"

He sold me off for three months of wages.

Meya quirked a sardonic grin. Three months of wages. How many Latts was that? If that was all she was worth to her own father, what did she have to fear?

She'd given away her virginity, the only valuable thing she'd ever had. Who knew? She probably wasn't even worth three months anymore. Maybe one at best, or maybe...just dung. Like those boys back in Crosset kept reminding her. Or pebble, like the official documents declared her to be.

If she failed, what did she have to lose but a life worth less than dung? If she succeeded, how much gold could she add to her worth?

So long as there's gold on this land, there's no limit.

Meya's calloused hands clenched into trembling fists. She spoke, her voice heavy as molten gold shining fiery in a crucible blasted with dragonfire,

"I'm in, milord."