The dining room always looked like something from a dream Anwen wasn't sure she was meant to have. The ceiling rose high above her head, painted with flowers she couldn't name, while crystal chandeliers dripped light like frozen rain. The long table seemed endless—so long that she thought she'd need to run to reach the other end.
She sat small and stiff in her chair, feet dangling far above the ground. Her hands were folded tightly on her lap, knuckles pale from squeezing as the dining hall doors opened with a soft groan, and the steward announced, "Lord Lucien Valdemar!"
Anwen blinked as the man stepped into the light. Tall, with sleek dark red hair and eyes that gleamed like cut glass, he was the mirror of Duke Dorian—but where Dorian's presence felt like stone walls and shadowed halls, his brother's was knife-smooth, precise, and searching.
He bowed lightly to Dorian, then turned his gaze on Anwen.
"So this is the girl." His voice was quiet, but every word landed with weight. "The newest Valdemar."
Heat rushed up Anwen's neck. She gripped the hem of her dress tightly, unsure what she was supposed to say.
Lucien's lips curved, but not into a smile. "I'm your father's brother. You may call me Uncle."
"Y-yes, Uncle," Anwen stammered, the title foreign on her tongue.
He studied her for a moment longer, as though weighing her like a coin in his palm. "Do you enjoy living here, child?"
The question startled her. "I…yes. It's very grand. And warm. And—" She hesitated, thinking of Aimes' cold stare that morning. "And sometimes a little scary, but in a good way."
That earned the faintest twitch of amusement in Lucien's eyes. "Honest and adorable…" he murmured. "...very uncommon among nobles."
Dorian's gaze flicked toward his brother, warning in its weight, but Lucien only leaned back and let the silence rest between them.
It was then that Dorian turned to Anwen and said, "Laia tells me you've taken an interest in your studies…"
Her back snapped straighter. Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Y-yes, Father. I…I want to learn properly. Like the others."
"That is good," he said with a single nod. "As a child of this house, you must learn as a noble does. I will arrange teachers for you."
The words should have made her happy. Instead, a little knot of nerves twisted in her stomach.
Teachers? Real teachers? What if they asked questions she couldn't answer? What if they found out what she was?
Still, she bobbed her head quickly. "I'll do my best." Then blurted before she could lose courage "Could I…also learn self-defense?"
Dorian's brows drew together. "You needn't concern yourself with fighting. You are safe within these walls."
But his brother leaned against his arm, his voice carrying an edge of practicality. "The girl is right. Safety is never absolute. It would be foolish to keep her ignorant." He paused, smiling faintly.
Anwen's eyes brightened at Lucien's support. No one had agreed with her so directly before. She pressed her lips together, then let out a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Uncle."
Lucien lifted his glass lazily, almost like her gratitude wasn't necessary, though his sharp eyes softened for the briefest second.
Dorian noticed the smile and his jaw twitched. He leaned back, voice clipped but smooth. "It isn't so simple, Anwen. Finding a trainer willing to teach a young girl combat has proven…difficult. Nobles are far too set in their ways."
Lucien arched a brow. "Then stop looking among the stiff-necked." He swirled his glass, his tone turning casual—almost careless. "Remi can teach her."
Anwen blinked. "Remi?"
"My son," Lucien said at last, as if it should have been obvious. "He's been living in the mountains with werewolves." He sighed dramatically and slouched in his chair. "I miss him terribly, but he insists on keeping company with mutts instead of his father. Ungrateful boy."
Dorian gave his brother a warning glance, but Lucien only smirked into his wine.
Anwen tilted her head. "If he's your son, why does he live there?"
"Because the vampire court can't decide if they want to put him on a pedestal or throw him in chains," Lucien replied, his tone far too dry for the weight of his words. "Remi is…complicated. Half pureblooded vampire, half werewolf—with alpha blood. A prodigy, if you like titles." He waved his hand vaguely. "Which means everyone keeps their eyes on him, waiting to see whether he'll rise or ruin."
Anwen's mouth formed a small 'o.' She could feel the tension shift at the table, though Lucien only leaned back like he'd spoken about the weather.
"So," he finished lightly, "if training my sweet niece gives him an excuse to leave the mountains and return to civilized land, then I'll call that a win."
Anwen's lips curved, and before she could stop herself, she raised both hands and shot Lucien a cheerful two thumbs up. "That's a genius idea!" she chirped.
Lucien chuckled low in his throat, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "Smart girl." He winked at her, and just like that, a silent pact of mischief sparked between them.
If anyone at the table had been paying close attention, they might have realized the danger: if left alone for too long, Lucien Valdemar and Anwen Valdemar would be nothing short of a nuisance together.
Dorian sighed into his glass, clearly already regretting introducing them.
Anwen, still grinning, turned her gaze to the other end of the table. Aimes sat with perfect posture, carving neatly into his steak with the precision of someone who could gut a man with the same ease. His crimson eyes flicked toward her briefly, then back to his plate.
"I'd rather my brother teach me," Anwen declared suddenly, the words bursting out before she could think better of it. "Aimes is strong. I want him to train me."
The knife paused in Aimes's hand for just a fraction of a second. His eyes lifted, locking on hers with cool disinterest. "I don't have time for that," he said flatly. "I'm preparing for the academy entrance exams."
Lucien snorted quietly into his wine, the sound suspiciously close to amusement. Dorian shot him a warning look before turning back to Anwen.
"You see, little one?" Dorian's voice softened, but there was no room for argument in it. "Your brother is occupied. He cannot spare the effort."
"But—"
"No." Aimes cut her off before she could gather more protest. His tone wasn't unkind, but it left no opening. "Find someone else."
Her shoulders slumped. "Then…Remi, I guess."
Lucien perked up immediately. "Excellent choice."
Dorian's crimson gaze snapped to his brother, sharp as a blade. "If your son causes her any discomfort, Lucien, I will personally send him running back to the mountains where he belongs."
"Relax," Lucien drawled, unfazed. "They'll get along fine. You'll see."
Anwen fiddled with her fork, half-distracted by her father's words. Corruption, hybrids, academy exams—everything sounded far too grown-up for her. But there was one thing she understood clearly: she was going to meet Remi soon, and the thought filled her with a nervous sort of excitement.
She didn't notice, at least not right away, the way Lucien's sharp eyes flicked toward Dorian at the end of dinner. The words had been light, casual, almost teasing, but they carried weight.
"Your condition is worsening, brother."
Anwen's fork hovered in mid-air. Condition? The word echoed in her mind long after the meal ended, refusing to leave her alone.