MIREYA POV
I tore a small piece of bread and brought it to my mouth. My hands were still shaking.
Lord Malric watched me closely, but his smile never faded.
"You must regain your strength," he said gently. "The Trials in Iron Spire are not for the weak."
The word Trials made my chest tighten again. I forced myself to swallow.
"I will arrange the best tutors for you," he continued. "Sword discipline. Court manners. History of the Gifted. You will learn how to walk, how to speak, and how to hold yourself. You will not embarrass me."
There it was.
Not anger. Not cruelty.
Control.
I kept my eyes lowered. "Yes, my lord."
He seemed pleased by that. He leaned back slightly in his chair. "You resemble her more in the daylight," he said quietly. "It is… comforting."
My fingers tightened around the cup. I did not know what to say to that. I was not his daughter. I was not Faye. I was Mireya from Harrowden.
But here, that did not seem to matter.
"You will address me as Father in this house," he added calmly. "It is best the servants hear no different."
My breath caught for a second.
Father.
The word felt heavy on my tongue.
"…Yes," I whispered carefully. "Father."
Greta shifted slightly at the wall, but she said nothing.
Lord Malric smiled again, satisfied. "Good. After lunch, Greta will begin preparing you. This evening, you will start with posture and speech. Tomorrow, weapons."
Weapons.
My heart skipped. I had never held a real blade in my life.
He stood slowly, smoothing down his coat. "Do not disappoint me."
The softness in his voice was gone for just a second. Just long enough for me to hear the warning beneath it.
Then the smile returned.
"I have invested greatly in you already."
Invested.
Not saved.
Not adopted.
Invested.
He turned and walked out of the room without another word.
The moment he disappeared, I let out a breath I did not know I had been holding. My shoulders sagged.
Greta hurried closer. "You did well," she whispered.
I looked at her, my eyes wide. "He was… kind."
Greta's expression tightened slightly.
"Yes," she said quietly. "He can be."
Something in her tone told me that kindness here came with a price.
I swallowed.
"What do you mean… he can be?" I asked softly.
Greta glanced toward the door, making sure no one stood outside. Then she leaned closer.
"My lady… the lord is not cruel without reason," she said carefully. "But when he has a goal, nothing stands in his way."
A chill ran through me.
"He lost his daughter," she continued. "That grief changed him. He speaks gently now… but his mind is always in a turmoil."
I stared at the untouched food on my plate.
"I am not her," I whispered.
Greta's eyes softened. "I know."
"But to him," she added quietly, "you do not need to be. He needs you to fulfill his plans."
Silence filled the room.
The truth of that sat heavily in my chest.
He did not need me to be Faye.
He only needed me to replace her.
Greta straightened. "We should go before he returns ."
I nodded slowly and stood up. My legs still felt weak.
As we walked out of the dining hall, I noticed the mansion more clearly in the daylight. The floors were polished white stone. Tall pillars lined the corridors. Large portraits of nobles and warriors hung on the walls.
Everywhere I looked, I saw power.
We turned a corner and stepped into a wide hall filled with mirrors.
My reflection stared back at me from every side.
Messy dark hair. Plain dress. Frightened eyes.
"I did not look like a noble's daughter."
Greta stopped beside me.
"That will change," she said gently.
I looked at her reflection.
"How?" I asked.
She gave me a small, sad smile.
"By breaking you," she answered quietly. "And building you again."
My throat tightened.
For the first time since I arrived, I understood something clearly.
I was not here to live.
I was here to be reshaped.
And if I failed…
I did not want to think about what would happen then.
I swallowed hard and kept my eyes on my reflection.
Greta's words echoed in my mind: breaking you and building you again.
I wanted to protest. I wanted to run. But the walls of the mansion pressed in from every side, and I knew there was nowhere to go.
"You'll start with posture and speech first," Greta said softly, almost like she was reading my thoughts. "Then, lessons in etiquette, history, and… eventually weapons."
I flinched at that last word. Weapons. I had never held a sword, never even touched one properly. My hands shook just thinking about it.
Greta studied me for a moment, her sharp eyes calculating. Then she sighed. "Do not worry. You will not be alone. I will guide you. But you must learn quickly. The lord expects nothing less."
I nodded silently, swallowing the lump in my throat. Learn quickly. The words felt like a hammer striking my chest.
She motioned for me to follow, leading me down another long hallway. The mansion seemed endless. Every door, every painting, every shadow made my chest tighten. I had no idea what rooms were ahead, what secrets the lord held behind them.
Finally, we stopped before a large set of double doors. Greta opened them and gestured inside.
"This will be your study room. Your lessons start here. Sit, listen, and do not question your teacher."
I stepped inside cautiously. The room was vast, lined with bookshelves and filled with sunlight streaming from high windows. A long desk sat at the far end, perfectly polished, with chairs set neatly around it.
"Your first lesson begins when the lord arrives," Greta said. "Do not be late. Do not fail to show respect."
She paused at the door. "I will wait outside. Do not speak unless spoken to."
I nodded, my hands clenching at my sides.
As Greta closed the door, the silence of the room wrapped around me like a shroud.
I was alone.
And I was terrified.
But deep down, beneath the fear, a tiny spark of defiance lit inside me.
I did not want to be Faye.
I did not want to be broken.
I would survive.
No matter what it took.