Anwen sat at the small desk in her chamber, a quill in her hand and a look of concentration on her face. Before her lay several sheets of parchment, each one detailing a different aspect of her carefully constructed cover story. Every word, every detail had to be perfect. One misstep, one inconsistency, and everything she had worked for could come crashing down.

She took a deep breath, dipping the quill into the ink and beginning to write. This week, her explanation for spending time at the castle would be that she was assisting in the organization of the prince's wardrobe. It was mundane enough to be believable, yet also important enough that her father would not question her frequent absences. He'd grumble about how 'woman's work' was beneath his daughter, but at least he wouldn’t dig deeper.

Downstairs, she could hear the faint murmur of her father's voice as he spoke with her brothers. They were discussing trade deals, shipments, and the various minutiae of the family business. A conversation she would have been eager to join if not for the disdain her father showed whenever she tried. "This is not for you, Anwen," he would say dismissively, "Your place is not in trade but in securing our family's future through a proper match."

But Anwen had other plans. With Eamon's help, she had found a way to pursue her passion without her father's approval. However, balancing her double life was proving to be more difficult than she had imagined.

After finishing her letter, she set it aside to dry and turned her attention to the other half of her life. The more important half. She pulled out a set of documents hidden in the false bottom of her desk drawer—ledgers, trade routes, and accounts. These were the lifeblood of her and Thom's fledgling trade network. Slowly but surely, they were making progress.

Anwen glanced at the small window of her room, noting the position of the sun. It was almost time. She rose, smoothing out her dress and collecting the letter she had written. Taking a deep breath, she left her room and made her way downstairs.

Her father, Sir Alistair, was seated in his study, flanked by her brothers, who were listening attentively to his instructions. As she entered, the room fell silent, all eyes turning toward her.

"I’ve completed the inventory of the prince's wardrobe, Father," Anwen said calmly, holding up the letter. "Here’s the report, as requested by the castle steward."

Sir Alistair took the letter without looking at her, setting it aside with a curt nod. "Very well," he muttered. "At least you're being of some use."

Anwen kept her expression neutral, hiding the flash of irritation that rose within her. "If it pleases you, I’ll be returning to the castle now. The steward has more tasks for me."

Her father waved a dismissive hand. "Go on, then. Just don't get in the way."

She gave a slight curtsy, not bothering to meet the eyes of her brothers, who were smirking at her as if her work was a joke. With that, she turned and left the house, her heart pounding in her chest.

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The moment she was outside and away from prying eyes, Anwen allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. She had successfully navigated another interaction with her father. But this was only the first hurdle of the day. There was still much to be done.

At the market, Anwen moved through the bustling crowd with purpose. She made her way to the small stall where Thom waited. He was a wiry man with keen eyes, always scanning his surroundings. As she approached, he gave her a quick nod, his face betraying nothing.

"How did it go?" he asked under his breath as she came to stand beside him, pretending to examine a piece of cloth.

"Smoothly," Anwen replied in a low voice, her eyes fixed on the wares. "He accepted my excuse for being at the castle. For now, we’re safe."

Thom gave a slight grunt of approval. "Good. We've made some progress on our end. I've secured a new trade route through the western villages. It’s not much, but it’s a start."

Anwen's heart lifted at the news. It was small, but it was a step forward. "Any complications?" she asked.

Thom hesitated before answering. "Not yet. But we need to be cautious. Some of the merchants are starting to ask questions. They know my operations were limited before, and now they're wondering how I've suddenly expanded."

Anwen frowned, her mind racing to find a solution. "We need to give them a distraction," she murmured. "Something to divert their attention from us."

Thom nodded, thinking. "What do you suggest?"

Anwen glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot. "Spread a rumor," she said quietly. "Something about a new, more lucrative trade route opening up in the northern regions. It’ll cause a stir, and the merchants will focus on that instead of us."

Thom smirked, a glint of admiration in his eyes. "You're as cunning as ever," he remarked.

Anwen shrugged, hiding the blush that threatened to creep up her cheeks. "We have to be. We can't afford to make mistakes."

She handed him a small pouch of coins, a portion of her earnings from the castle. "Use this to grease the right palms," she instructed. "Make sure the rumor spreads convincingly."

Thom took the pouch and nodded. "Consider it done," he replied. "And the sword?"

Anwen stiffened slightly, her expression growing serious. "Caelan is working on it," she said. "But it’s risky. We need to be careful. If his family finds out, it could ruin everything."

Thom’s eyes narrowed. "And you trust him?"

Anwen hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I do," she said firmly. "But I also have a contingency plan in case things go awry."

Thom raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Very well. I’ll continue to monitor the market. If anything seems off, you’ll be the first to know."

Anwen nodded, feeling the familiar tension in her chest. Every move they made was a gamble, a precarious dance on the edge of discovery. But it was a risk they had to take if they were to carve out their own path.

Returning to the castle later that day, Anwen felt the weight of her double life pressing down on her. Inside the castle walls, she was the diligent assistant to the prince, a girl of noble birth learning the ways of court life. Outside, she was a secret merchant, building a trade network under the noses of those who would see her ambitions crushed.

She made her way to the hidden room behind the library where Eamon and Liora were waiting. As she entered, Eamon looked up from a stack of papers, his eyes searching hers for a sign of how things had gone.

"Everything went smoothly," Anwen reported, sitting down. "Thom has secured a new route, and I've set a distraction in motion to keep prying eyes off of us."

Eamon nodded, a small smile of approval crossing his lips. "Well done," he said. "And Caelan?"

"He’s working on the sword," Anwen replied. "But it’s a delicate situation. We need to be prepared for any fallout if things don’t go as planned."

Liora, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "And your father?" she asked gently.

Anwen's face hardened slightly. "He suspects nothing," she said. "As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a girl doing 'woman's work' at the castle."

Eamon exchanged a glance with Liora, a silent understanding passing between them. They all knew the stakes. One wrong move, one slip in Anwen’s cover, and everything could unravel.

"You're doing more than most would dare," Eamon said quietly. "We’re lucky to have you."

Anwen looked at him, a flicker of determination in her eyes. "Luck has nothing to do with it," she replied. "We’re creating our own fate, one step at a time."

As they continued to discuss their plans, Anwen couldn’t help but feel a sense of purpose despite the constant risk. She was walking a fine line, balancing her role at the castle with her secret ambitions. But with each successful maneuver, she grew bolder, more confident that they could pull this off.

The world they lived in was not kind to women who dared to dream beyond their prescribed roles. But Anwen was determined to change that, one carefully crafted cover story at a time.