Anwen's feet wouldn't stay still. She kept swinging them from the stool as Laia tried to tug her hair into place.
"Stop wriggling!" Laia huffed, pinning the last ribbon in.
"I can't," Anwen whispered, her voice bouncing with excitement. "We're going outside. Outside!"
Laia laughed under her breath. "It's only the market. Don't act like you're about to meet the Emperor."
But to Anwen, it was that grand. For the first time in weeks, she wouldn't be shut in her room or the Duke's estate. Her chest bubbled with nervous joy.
Laia had dressed her into a pale blue dress trimmed with silver ribbons. A little pearl pin held back her silver white hair so it wouldn't fall into her eyes, and a small chain bracelet clinked faintly on her wrist whenever she moved. Everything about her looked soft, clean, and proper—unlike the rags she used to wear.
"You look like a doll," Laia said with satisfaction, stepping back to admire her.
Anwen blinked at her reflection in the polished mirror. Wide glassy blue eyes stared back at her, shimmering faintly even in the dim light. Her skin was pale in a way that stood out even in a household of vampires. The dress fit perfectly, and for once she looked less like an orphan and more like a lady from a ducal household.
Fredrinn was waiting when they descended the stairs. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his uniform crisp with the Duke's crest stitched on the chest. He bowed slightly, but there was a spark of humor in his red eyes.
"Your escort awaits, little lady," he said.
Anwen tilted her chin. "Don't call me little."
"Then grow taller," he replied easily, offering his arm as if she were already a lady. Fredrinn was more than a guard—he was one of the Duke's most trusted knights, and since her arrival, he had been placed at her side whenever she stepped beyond the estate walls.
Anwen slipped her hand onto his arm, trying not to beam. Today she was going outside. Not to run, not to hide, but to walk openly in sunlight.
The market overwhelmed her senses.
Colors blazed in every direction—bolts of velvet and silk, baskets of fruit piled high, polished silver catching the light. The air buzzed with shouts, laughter, and the ring of coins, laced with the scents of spice, smoke, and roasting meat.
After years of walls and shadows, the world felt too big and bright for Anwen. Her steps were small and hesitant, but her eyes were wide and hungry.
Anwen gripped Laia's hand tightly, her eyes darting everywhere.
"Do you like it?" Laia asked.
"I love it!" Anwen gasped. "It's…it's like a dream that smells funny."
"Smells like fish," Fredrinn muttered.
They stopped at a jewelry stall, its glass beads sparkling like drops of rainbow water. Anwen leaned in, reaching for one with a shy smile.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" she said aloud, to no one in particular. "It looks like sunlight trapped in glass."
A sharp laugh answered her.
"You sound ridiculous."
Anwen turned. A girl stood there, around her age but dressed in stiff silk dyed crimson. Her curls had been pinned into tight, gleaming coils, and a jeweled brooch glittered at her throat.
The girl's eyes skimmed over Anwen from head to toe, narrowing. Truly, she was beautiful. But her beauty wasn't familiar in these parts. Where red eyes and dark hair was a beauty norm in the land of vampires.
"You don't belong here," she said, discarding all thoughts of being nice since Anwen wasn't a vampire.
"What are you supposed to be? Some lost street child playing dress-up?" And vampires were the strongest creatures.
Anwen blinked, confused more than offended. "I'm not a street child," she said softly. "I live at Valdemar's estate."
The girl scoffed. "Lies. His Grace would never keep something like you under his roof." She gestured with a pointed finger. "Look at your skin. Your hair. Your eyes."
Heat prickled at Anwen's cheeks. She wasn't used to people staring, and the girl's raised voice had drawn a circle of whispers around them.
"I didn't mean to lie," Anwen stammered. "I only—"
"Only what? Pretending to be a member of a ducal household? Pathetic." The girl stepped closer, her sneer widening. "Tell me, where did you get the dress? Why are you covered in ribbons? You can't honestly think you look noble—"
Anwen opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Fredrinn stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of her. His shadow fell over the bratty noble girl.
"Mind your tongue," Fredrinn said flatly. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough steel to make the girl flinch. "Show some manners in public."
The brat bristled. "And who are you to—"
Before she could finish, the sound of boots echoed sharply across the cobblestones. Aimes arrived with several guards in his wake.
"Is there a problem?" He looked like the mere existence of the entire world irritated him, a frown settled upon his handsome but scary face.
The brat's face brightened up at the sight of the young master, "Young Master, what perfect timing!" she rushed to his side in a flash, pointing at Anwen with her fan.
"This outsider claims to be a member of the Valdemar's household…just because she's rented a luxurious gown she thinks she can parade the market pretending to be someone she's not." She flashes Anwen a nasty look.
"Why don't you show her what happens to outsiders who lie under the name of a ducal household in the land of vampires?"
Aimes had his gaze fixated on Anwen, who had completely cowered behind Fredrinn. It looked like she didn't plan on clarifying the situation, so he would have to take matters into his hands.
His crimson gaze shifted from Anwen to the brat, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up prey. He didn't raise his voice—he didn't need to. The silence that followed his arrival was suffocating enough.
Finally, he spoke.
"What makes you think she's lying under my house name?"
The brat froze mid-smirk. His words cut so sharply, so unexpectedly, she almost dropped her fan.
"Y-Young Master?" she stuttered, trying to recover. "I—I only said so because…because she looks nothing like a vampire! Everyone knows the Valdemar household is a vampire household. And she—she's not…"
Her words crumbled into the thick, heavy quiet that followed.
"Careful," Aimes said, stepping forward just enough to force her back a pace. His eyes glowed faintly crimson in the light, his expression utterly unreadable. "You speak as though you know the affairs of my house better than I do. Do you?"
The brat shook her head violently, all color draining from her cheeks.
"Then learn your place." His tone was final, and the weight of it crushed whatever petty pride she had left.
The brat faltered into a shaky curtsy, muttering something that might've been an apology before fleeing into the crowd, her entourage scrambling after her.
The market air felt lighter once she was gone, but not for Anwen. She peeked out from behind Fredrinn, only to find Aimes's gaze still on her—unreadable and cold as winter.
"You," he said, voice like a whip crack. "Stop tarnishing the Valdemar's name. If you can't manage that, then get out before I throw you out myself."
With that, he turned sharply on his heel, the guards following like shadows.
Anwen stood frozen, ribbons trembling in the breeze, as her throat tightened. Fredrinn placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. But it was Laia's soft whisper that reached her ear.
"Don't mind him," Laia murmured. "He's like that to everyone. But if you win him over, he'll never turn his back on you. Not even once."
Anwen's small fists curled into her skirts. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.
Then she nodded, determination burning faintly through her sadness.
If Aimes Valdemar thought she was unworthy of being his sister, then she would prove him wrong.
She would make him see her.