(Nora's POV)
The clang of hammer on steel echoed through the blacksmith's shop, but the rhythm felt hollow without Father's presence beside me. He had left early that morning, saying only that he needed to deliver some new weapons to the warriors. No smile. No pat on the shoulder. No words to mark the day that mattered most to me.
My eighteenth birthday.
I had told myself not to hope, not to expect anything. Yet as the forge's fire burned low and the air filled with smoke and the faint metallic tang of iron, I couldn't push away the ache inside. Eighteen was supposed to mean something—adulthood, strength, recognition. Instead, it felt like nothing at all.
I quenched the last blade, listening to the hiss of steam rising as metal met water. The shop was silent now, just the crackle of dying embers and the faint whisper of rain beginning outside. I cleaned my hands on a rag, sighed, and pulled the shutters closed.
Stepping out into the street, I tugged my cloak tighter. The rain quickened into cold drops against my face. My boots splashed in the puddles forming on the cobbled path. "Really? Now?" I muttered, tilting my face to the sky. The clouds gave no answer, only another rumble of thunder rolling over Steelhaven.
By the time I reached the house, my cloak was soaked through and my hair clung heavy against my shoulders. I pushed open the door, already thinking about stoking the hearth and drying off, when my boot caught on something at the threshold.
A letter.
Not just any letter—this one bore the royal seal. The crimson wax was stamped with the crest of the kingdom, gleaming even in the dim light. My pulse quickened as I bent down to pick it up, rainwater dripping from my fingers onto the parchment.
With trembling hands, I broke the seal and unfolded it. The ink was dark, the handwriting elegant, official. The words blurred for a moment as my heart pounded in my chest.
Inside, it said…
(Astara's POV)
I shut the door on him before he could say another word. His voice still rang in my ears, dripping with the same arrogance as always: women don't matter. That was what he had chosen to tell me on this day, of all days. Two years together, and not once did he pause to wish me a happy birthday. Instead, he reminded me of my supposed place beneath him.
Frustration bubbled in my chest as I threw myself onto the bed, the mattress creaking under me. "Two years," I muttered aloud, the sound muffled when I dropped the book I'd been reading over my face. "Two years, and he forgets my birthday."
It was supposed to be a day of meaning, the eighteenth birthday—the age when a girl was finally considered grown. Yet my family hadn't remembered, and the one person who should have cared most hadn't either. The weight of it pressed down on me harder than the book resting on my skin. I lay there flat on my back, staring at nothing in particular, caught between anger and sorrow.
The house was quiet save for the distant crackle of the hearth downstairs. I tried to let my mind sink back into the stories I loved, to escape into battles and victories that felt far away from my own small disappointments. But the sting of being forgotten clung stubbornly.
Then came a knock at the door. Firm, polite. "Miss," a voice called from the other side. "A letter has arrived for you. It bears the royal seal."
My heart leapt, the book slipping from my face as I sat upright in an instant. The royal seal? For me?
Bare feet met the wooden floor with a soft thud as I rushed to the door. My hand shook a little when I pulled it open, and the servant on the other side held out a folded piece of parchment, sealed with crimson wax stamped with the kingdom's crest. My pulse hammered in my ears as I snatched it up and quickly closed the door again, clutching it as though it might vanish if I loosened my grip.
Back on the bed, I turned the letter over in my hands, tracing the smooth edges, my breath uneven. Why would the crown send something to me?
With a sharp crack, I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The ink was dark, the script neat, refined, and commanding.
Inside, it said…
(Clover's POV)
The day began like any other—fields to tend, crops to harvest, cows waiting to be milked, and ducks restless for their feathers to be plucked. The rhythm of the farm had become second nature to me, each task flowing into the next until the sun dipped low across the hills. My hands ached, my back twinged, but none of it mattered. Not today.
Today, I was eighteen.
The thought kept me smiling despite the weight of the buckets and the sting of downy feathers brushing against my skin. Eighteen wasn't just another number—it meant something. It meant I was no longer a child scraping to survive but someone who could finally stand in the world as my own.
There was no family waiting to celebrate with me, no parents to remind me of my worth or to wrap me in their arms. That part of life had been denied to me long ago. But I wasn't entirely alone. The farmer I worked for had been kinder than usual this morning, his gruff tone softened, his eyes warmer. When the chores were finally done, he surprised me with something I hadn't expected—a cake.
It wasn't perfect, lopsided and dusted unevenly with sugar, but to me it was more precious than gold. Still, as I looked closer, I couldn't shake the suspicion that it had come from the bakery in the village square rather than his own oven. I kept that thought to myself, though, choosing instead to treasure the gesture. For once, someone had remembered.
Humming softly, I made my way up the worn path toward the farmhouse, my boots brushing through the tall grass. My stomach fluttered at the thought of cutting into that cake, of letting myself enjoy something sweet just for me. But when I reached the porch, I stopped short.
There, lying neatly against the wooden boards, was a letter. The paper was thick, the crimson wax seal stamped with a crest I recognized instantly. My name was written in elegant script across the front.
The royal seal.
My breath caught as I bent to pick it up, the edges cool beneath my fingertips. For a long moment, I simply stood there, the sound of ducks quacking in the distance, the smell of hay drifting on the breeze. Why would the crown send a letter to me—a farmer's hand, a girl with no name, no family, no place beyond these fields?
With shaking fingers, I cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment. The ink inside was dark and crisp, each letter carved onto the page with care and purpose.
Inside it said...
Letter Containing the Royal Seal;
To the Chosen Daughters of the Villages,
By my hand and seal, I, Queen Seraphina Aurelius of Evermere, extend this summons to you. Word has reached my ears of your uncommon gifts, talents that shine brighter than the ordinary labors of daily life.
Such talents must not go unseen nor untested, for within them may lie the strength and brilliance our kingdom requires in the days to come.
Therefore, I bid you, with all urgency and honor, to journey to my palace at the capital of Evermere. You shall be received as honored guests under my roof, given all provisions for comfort and safe passage. There, in the halls of the palace, I shall see with my own eyes the talents you possess. Consider this not only a summons but also an opportunity—for in such gifts, destinies are often revealed.
Fail not to come, for the eyes of the crown are upon you, and the turning of fate waits for no one.
Until your arrival, may light guide your steps and courage strengthen your hearts.
By my hand and seal,
Her Majesty Queen Seraphina Aurelius
Sovereign of Evermere, Guardian of the Silver Throne