The stable boy's boots scuffed the stone floor of the count's office, leaving faint smudges of hay and grease on the polished planks.
He kept his eyes downcast, his calloused hands twisting together in front of him—hands that had mended harnesses since he was eight.
The count sat behind his oak desk, the fire crackling in the hearth casting sharp shadows over his face.
Kael leaned against the mantel, his arms crossed, a lazy, cruel smirk on his lips—he'd already heard Layla's tale, and he was itching to add his own lies about Hannah's 'disobedience.'
The countess hovered in the doorway, her silk gown rustling, her nose turned up like the stable boy's presence alone was a stain on her perfect day.
"Speak," the count said, his voice low and steady. No anger - yet.
Only a quiet urgency that made the boy's throat go dry.
"You were in the stable this morning. You saw Hannah. Tell me what happened."
The boy swallowed.
He could lie, but Kael's eyes bored into his back, cold and sharp as a knife.
The boy knew what would happen if he lied and got caught, Kael had broken the fingers of a kitchen boy last winter for stealing a tart, and he'd have no qualms about breaking more.
He'd never known the girl was the count's daughter; to him, she was just a quiet, ragged kid who lingered in the stables, who shared crusts of bread when he went hungry. The gossip he'd heard from the kitchen maids—about the count's forgotten third daughter—had never once crossed his mind as he handed her that old saddle.
"Sir," the boy said, his voice barely a whisper, "she came to the stable this morning."
The count leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "What did she want?"
"I don't know sir, she came and took the mare with her as usual." The boy's voice trembled, but he forced himself to go on.
"She had on a green tunic—hunting clothes, sir. Not the fancy kind. The plain one, with the frayed cuffs. Asked me to fetch a saddle for the mare. That's all." He didn't mention the coins she'd pressed into his palm, warm and heavy, a secret he'd take to his grave.
Kael scoffed. "Of course she did. Probably stole it from the laundry—"
"Silence," the count snapped. Kael's smirk faded. The count turned back to the boy, his gaze intense.
"Did she say where she was going? Did she leave a note? Did she take anything besides the horse?"
The boy's mind raced. Hannah had taken nothing but the pendant around her neck and the pouch she'd tucked into her tunic, her fingers pressing the metal to her lips before she climbed onto Bess's back. He'd seen the way her eyes had shone—not with fear, but with something bright, something free—something he'd never seen in her before.
But he said nothing of that. Nothing of the quiet resolve in her posture, nothing of the way she'd nodded at him like they were equal, like she wasn't some ghost lingering on the manor's edges.
"N-nothing, sir," he said, his eyes still fixed on the floor.
"No note. No basket. Just… her. And Bess. I was busy with the horses, rubbing down the colts, mucking out the stalls.
The morning's always noisy here, sir, hooves clattering, the grooms shouting, the mares whinnying for grain. I didn't hear any commotion from the garden.
Didn't see a thing besides her coming and going." It was the truth, he hadn't seen Layla's tantrum, hadn't heard the screams, hadn't witnessed the slap that had finally snapped Hannah's silence.
And he'd never admit how grateful he was for that noise, for the chaos that let him pretend he knew nothing more than his duties.
The count's brow furrowed. He sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.
He thought of the way Hannah had flinched from his touch last time he'd tried to pat her shoulder.
He thought of the way she'd hidden in the corners of the great hall during feasts, her body thin and hunched like she was trying to make herself disappear.
He thought of the scars he'd seen on her wrists once, when her sleeve had slipped down, scars that weren't from polishing floors, or scrubbing pots, or any of the chores the countess claimed she'd been assigned.
Scars that were from Kael's fists.
The count's jaw tightened. He glanced at Kael, at the countess, at the way they both avoided his eyes, guilty, both of them.
Guilty of turning his daughter into a ghost in her own home.
Guilty of making her so desperate that she'd run away at dawn, with nothing but a horse and a borrowed saddle, rather than stay one more day in the manor that was supposed to be her safe haven.
"When did she leave?" the count asked, his voice colder now. Sharper.
"Before breakfast, sir. Right after she left the stable." The boy's voice dropped to a mumble, scrubbing any mention of the garden from his words. He didn't want to get dragged into their family's mess. Didn't want to be the one to lay bare the rot at the Benningtons' core.
But Kael wasn't about to let him off the hook.
"The garden?" Kael said, pushing off the mantel. He took a step toward the boy, his boots thudding on the floor.
"She was in the garden with Layla. Layla says she attacked her, slapped her maid, pushed her into the mud. Is that true?"
The boy flinched. He thought of the kitchen maids' whispers, of Layla's spoiled tantrums, of the way Hannah's tunic had been torn more than once when she'd stumbled into the stables, blood on her lip.
But he shook his head, his shoulders hunched, his voice small and unconvincing only because he was fighting to keep the truth locked away.
"I told you, sir, I didn't hear a thing. The stables are on the west side of the manor. The garden's east. The wind was blowing the wrong way, and the horses were making too much noise. I couldn't have heard even if there was a commotion."
Kael snarled, stepping closer—close enough that the boy could smell the pine on his furs, could see the anger in his eyes. "You little liar—"
"Enough, Kael," the count said, his voice like a whip crack.
Kael froze. The count stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and walked to the window. He stared out at the forest, at the same trees Hannah had vanished into.
The sun was high now, casting golden light over the leaves, but the count's face was dark.
He thought of the resolve he'd felt on the hunt, the resolve to make things right for Hannah. To give her a room with a bed, not straw.
To hire a tutor, so she could learn to read and write. To tell the countess and his children that their cruelty would stop, or else. To be the father he should have been all these years.
And now she was gone.
The count turned back to the boy, his eyes softening, just a little.
"You're dismissed," he said. "And if you remember anything else, anything at all-you come to me. Understood?"
The boy nodded so hard his teeth clacked.
He didn't wait for another word. He turned and fled the office, his boots thudding down the hallway, his heart pounding until it felt like it would burst out of his chest.
The truth crashed over him as he ran, she was the third daughter. The forgotten one. The one the servants whispered about, the one Kael beat, the one the countess treated like dirt.
The realization made his hands shake, made his chest ache for the girl who'd never once complained.
The count did not waste another moment. He sent a page scrambling for his captain of the guard, his voice sharp with a urgency that brooked no delay.
When the captain, a broad-shouldered knight with a scar across his cheek, bowed his way into the office, the count's jaw was set, his eyes burning with a mix of regret and determination.
"Gather your men," the count ordered, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Twenty of your best knights. Arm them, saddle their horses, and ride at once. Comb every inch of the Bennington territory, the forests, the villages, the farmsteads, the border crossings. Search for my daughter. Hannah."
Kael's eyes widened. "Father, she's a runaway. A disgrace. Why waste knights on her?"
"Because she is still my blood," the count snapped, cutting him off. He turned back to the captain, his tone softening just enough to convey the weight of the order.
"She left on Bess, a chestnut mare with a white star on her forehead. She wears a frayed green hunting tunic. She cannot have gone far, she left at dawn, with no supplies, no escort." He paused, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides.
"Bring her back to me. Unharmed. And if anyone dares to harm a hair on her head… you know what to do."
The captain bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord. We will ride within the hour."
He turned and left, his boots thudding down the hallway. The count stared after him, his chest tight. He knew the search might be futile. He knew Hannah was smart, smarter than any of them had ever given her credit for.
But he had to try. He had to make amends, even if it was too late.
Kael spat on the floor, his face twisted with disgust. "Wasting knights on a bastard—"
The count turned on him, his hand slamming down on the desk so hard that the inkwells rattled. "One more word, Kael, and I will have you confined to your chambers until she is found. Do you understand me?"
Kael flinched. For the first time in his life, he saw fear in his father's eyes, not fear of him, but fear of losing something precious. He clamped his mouth shut, his face turning red with rage.
The countess said nothing. She simply turned and walked out of the office, her silk gown rustling like a storm.
The count was alone. He stared out at the forest again, as if y had swallowed his daughter whole.
'Beatrice, forgive me..'
.
.
.
Back to a few hours ago, Hannah followed Helda through the crowded streets of the city, Bess's reins looped loosely in her hand.
The orphanage director moved with a brisk, no-nonsense gait, her silver bun bobbing with each step, while Helmut trotted at their heels, still clutching the half-eaten apple Hannah had given him.
They turned a corner, and suddenly they were standing in front of a stone building with a sign swinging above the door: The Iron Shield Adventure Guild.
The air inside was thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and wood smoke. Rough-hewn tables were packed with burly men and women in leather armor, their voices loud and boisterous as they argued over maps and bounties.
A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting warm light over the scars and swords of the adventurers gathered around it.
Hannah felt small, out of place, her new wool tunic suddenly feeling like rags again. She tightened her grip on the leather pouch at her waist—249 gold, 6 silver—and tried not to flinch when a burly warrior slammed his tankard on the table.
Helda led her to a wooden counter at the back of the room, where a woman with a sharp nose and a clipboard was scribbling furiously. She looked up as they approached, her eyes narrowing at Hannah.
"New recruit?" she said, her voice flat.
"Indeed," Helda said, leaning against the counter with a grin. "This is Hannah. I'm her guarantor."
The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Guarantor's signature, first. Then the fee: 20 gold for the registry and ID card. 10 gold extra for the talent assessment—magic affinity, combat aptitude, that sort of thing. Standard procedure."
Hannah's eyes widened. 30 gold total. It was a fortune—more than she'd ever dared to spend on herself in her entire life.
She reached into her pouch, pulled out 30 gold pieces, and laid them on the counter with a steady hand.
The receptionist counted the gold, her fingers quick and efficient. "Talent assessment?" she asked, sliding a stack of papers across the counter. "Most kids your age skip it—can't afford it, or don't care. But it's useful for your ID. Helps you get better bounties."
Hannah hesitated. She had no magic. She knew that—she'd spent her whole life in the manor, surrounded by the count's mages, and not once had she ever felt a spark of power in her veins.
Not once had she been able to light a candle with her mind, or heal a wound with a touch, or do any of the things the mages did so easily.
"I'll do it," she said.
Helda smiled. "Smart girl."
The receptionist nodded, then led her to a small room off the main hall. It was bare, save for a stone pedestal in the center, upon which rested a crystal ball glowing with faint blue light.
"Place your hand on the crystal," the receptionist said.
"If you have magic affinity, it'll glow. Red for fire, blue for water, green for earth, yellow for air. If it stays dim… well, you're just a regular human. No shame in that."
Hannah stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. She placed her hand on the crystal.
She feel... Nothing