The morning light filtered through the narrow window of Anwen's small chamber, casting long shadows across the stone floor. She sat on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she prepared herself for another day. The manor was already bustling with activity, the sounds of servants and merchants drifting up through the corridors.

Anwen took a deep breath and stood, smoothing out her plain dress. Today, like every day, she would be expected to fulfill her duties quietly and without question. Her father, Lord Alistair, had made it clear time and again—her place was to observe and to assist where needed, but never to take initiative. Never to think for herself.

She made her way down to the main hall, where her father and brothers were already gathered. The hall was a place of business, filled with the smell of ink and parchment, the constant rustle of papers, and the clink of coins being counted. Lord Alistair stood at the head of the table, his sharp eyes scanning a ledger.

Her oldest brother, Edwin, lounged in a chair, his feet propped up on the table as he lazily flipped through a stack of documents. He exuded an air of arrogance, his chin held high and his eyes half-lidded with disdain. Anwen often wondered if he truly grasped the weight of his responsibilities. He spoke confidently enough, but his words were often empty—mere echoes of their father's teachings rather than products of his own understanding.

"Anwen," Lord Alistair's voice cut through the room like a knife, pulling her from her thoughts. "Have you finished the inventory of the storeroom?"

Anwen stiffened and nodded quickly. "Yes, Father. Everything is accounted for, and—"

"I don't need a report," he interrupted curtly. "Simply do as you are told."

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she bit her tongue. She had learned long ago that speaking out of turn would only result in scorn. She glanced at Edwin, who was smirking at her discomfort. He thrived on moments like this, where he could bask in the superiority their father afforded him.

"Don't worry, Father," Edwin drawled, his voice dripping with feigned indifference. "Anwen knows her place. She's good at the simple tasks."

Anwen's hands tightened into fists at her sides. She wanted to retort, to tell Edwin that she was capable of so much more than mere inventory checks. But the words caught in her throat. Instead, she nodded silently and turned away, moving toward the storeroom as if on command.

As she sorted through the crates and barrels, her mind whirled with ideas—ideas about streamlining the inventory process, optimizing their trade routes, and expanding their markets. She had studied these things in secret, listening in on the lessons her father gave to Edwin and Harold. But every time she tried to offer a suggestion, she was met with dismissal.

"You're too eager, Anwen," her father would say with a shake of his head. "Leave the complex matters to your brothers."

Her brothers. Edwin, the eldest, who acted as though he already ran the entire estate. He spoke in grand terms and made bold decisions, but often without fully understanding the implications. He was brash and overconfident, constantly seeking to prove his worth in their father's eyes. Yet beneath the arrogance, Anwen saw the cracks in his facade—the gaps in his knowledge, the flaws in his plans. But no one questioned him. No one dared.

Then there was Harold, her second eldest brother. He was quiet, a shadow to Edwin's bluster. He was the more competent of the two, at least in terms of understanding the finer points of their trade. But Harold was also timid, a coward who avoided confrontation at all costs. He would whisper his concerns to Anwen in private, but when it came time to speak up in front of their father or Edwin, he would shrink back into silence.

"Why don't you say something?" Anwen had asked him one evening when they were alone in the study, their father and Edwin elsewhere.

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"Because it wouldn't change anything," Harold had replied, his eyes downcast. "Father listens to Edwin. And even if I did speak up, what's the point? You know how things are."

Anwen had felt a surge of frustration then, not just at her father and Edwin, but at Harold as well. He had the knowledge, the insight that could make a difference, but he lacked the courage to act. And that left her feeling more alone than ever. She was surrounded by incompetence on one side and cowardice on the other, and it left her with a burning desire to prove herself.

After finishing the inventory check, Anwen returned to the hall, only to find Edwin lounging in the chair, barking orders at the servants. He glanced at her with a sneer.

"Done already?" he asked, his tone mocking. "I hope you didn't miss anything. We wouldn't want you to make a mistake, now would we?"

She bit back a retort and simply nodded, moving to the side of the room where she usually stayed out of the way. Her eyes caught sight of her father's desk, cluttered with ledgers and maps. She knew she could help—if only they would let her.

The day dragged on, filled with monotonous tasks that offered her no challenge, no chance to use the knowledge she had worked so hard to gain. As evening approached, Anwen found herself in the courtyard, seeking a moment of solitude. The sky was tinged with the colors of sunset, and a cool breeze rustled through the trees.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. It wasn't fair. She was just as capable as her brothers, perhaps more so. She understood trade, economics, and the workings of their estate better than Edwin, and she had the drive that Harold lacked. Yet she was kept on the sidelines, reduced to the role of an observer.

"Anwen."

She turned sharply, startled by the voice. It was Harold. He approached hesitantly, his eyes darting around as if to make sure they were alone.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice edged with frustration.

"I... I wanted to apologize," he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the ground. "For earlier. For not speaking up when you tried to offer suggestions."

Anwen sighed, her anger ebbing slightly. "It's not your fault, Harold. You know how Father is. And Edwin..."

"Edwin is a fool," Harold muttered, bitterness creeping into his voice. "He doesn't understand half of what he's talking about. But Father favors him because he's bold."

"Boldness without knowledge is dangerous," Anwen replied, her voice hardening. "We both know that. But what can we do? We're stuck in this... this cycle."

Harold looked at her then, a hint of desperation in his eyes. "Maybe... maybe if you keep learning in secret, there will come a time when you can use that knowledge. When Father and Edwin will have to listen."

Anwen felt a flicker of hope at his words, but it was quickly extinguished by the reality of their situation. "And when will that time come, Harold?" she asked quietly. "When they're both ruined our family's business? When it's too late?"

He didn't have an answer. He simply stood there, looking at her with a mixture of helplessness and guilt. She sighed and turned away, staring out at the fading light of the day.

"Go inside," she said softly. "Before they notice you're gone."

Harold hesitated for a moment, then nodded and left her alone in the courtyard. Anwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was tired of feeling powerless, tired of being dismissed. She knew she had the ability to make a difference, to prove that she was more than just a girl meant to be married off or kept in the shadows.

A sound from the nearby hallway caught her attention, and she turned to see a familiar figure stepping into view. It was Eamon, the young prince. He met her gaze for a moment, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that belied his age. She felt a strange connection then, as if he could see her struggle, even if he didn't know the full extent of it.

"Your Highness," she said, quickly curtsying and lowering her eyes.

"Anwen," he replied, his voice gentle. "Why are you out here alone?"

She hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But the sincerity in his gaze broke down her defenses. "I... I just needed a moment," she admitted. "To think."

He nodded slowly, not pressing her for more. Instead, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You know, if you ever want to talk or... learn more about what we discuss in the lessons, you can come to me."

Anwen looked up at him, surprise mingling with gratitude. He was offering her something she had longed for—an opportunity, however small, to prove herself. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she said softly. "I... I would like that."

As he turned to leave, Anwen watched him go, a new resolve forming in her heart. She would continue to learn in secret, to gather knowledge and bide her time. One day, she would show them all—her father, her brothers, and the world—that she was more than they ever gave her credit for.

For now, she would endure. She would play the part they expected of her, all the while building her own path, brick by brick, toward the future she knew she was capable of.