Elise strode down the corridor, Quinn just ahead of her, leading the way as always. Eventually, the sight of a grand door, flanked by two servants and a solitary guard came within reach, their destination.

  The guard stood with relaxed confidence, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wore no armor, just a well-tailored tunic and boots, as though battle were a distant thought. The lines on his face crisscrossed like ancient maps, and his perpetually amused expression made him seem both ageless and impossibly old. As Elise approached, all three bowed in unison.

  “Good evening, Lady Kenji,” the guard said, his voice warm and roughened by years of use, while his smile deepened the creases around his eyes. Somehow, every time she saw him, he always managed to look two decades older than his actual age. “It’s been a few days since we last crossed paths.”

  “Keal,” Elise replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “How many times must I remind you to address me properly? My youth is no excuse for your familiarity.”

  Keal’s smirked. “Ah, but my blood, thinned by time as it may be, still grants me the privileges of my name."

  "Privilege and etiquette are two different things Keal."

  "And is laxed etiquette with excusable assumption not one of my privileges?"

  "Depends on the excuse."

  "Well, for one, I could say that for old times’ sake, as a fool who watched you stumble through your first steps as a tyke, will you not indulge me? My show of affection, a slight adjustment in name. It's not like I'm going around calling you false gold, or deceitful dove am I?”

  Elise narrowed her eyes, though the corner of her lips twitched in amusement. “I wouldn't mind earning the title false gold, but enough of that. Hearing you speak with such decorum makes my skin crawl. You’re free to speak as you please, so long as you don’t embarrass me in public.”

  Keal’s grin widened as he dismissed her words with a wave. “Me? Embarrass you? I don’t even attend any prim waddler parties. How could I cause you shame without gracing them with my presence?”

  “I don't see why you avoid them so much. I heard you even convinced my father to leave you behind when he was summoned to the courts. Don’t you think it’s time you brought some pride to your name? We are all Kenjis here.”

  “And what pride would I earn in a room stuffed with powdered aristocrats and self-important officials? They bore me to death, and I lack the eyes to appreciate their lifestyle. Aye, it may stain my name, but I find far more joy drinking with the lower men. Reputation is a coin I care little for, my lady,” he declared proudly.

  “My, such bold words,” Elise replied playfully, her tone smooth as silk. “I may not know how to answer that, but I suspect your wife might.”

  His smug grin faltered. “Wha—what do you mean?”

  “Well,” she said, gesturing with a deliberate elegance that mirrored the courts he claimed to disdain, “I hear your dear wife sent a letter of inquiry. She was quite concerned about your health and... actions. After all, the responsible father that you are hasn’t seen fit to send word home.” The mockery in her voice was unmistakable, each word a needle piercing his confidence. “And as you know, your antics have been wearing on my mother’s patience. I’m afraid your wife might hang you, good sir.”

  “Hang me?” His voice cracked. “Wait, are you saying the madam already replied?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? What did the letter say?”

  She grinned, enjoying his growing discomfort. “Can’t say. Didn’t read it. But judging by the sour look on her face while she wrote, I wouldn’t hold out much hope for your wife's clemency.”

  “Bu—but it wasn’t just me. Your father and I were together—with the others. Why am I the only one getting in trouble?”

  “Who said it was only you? This morning was the last straw. Father’s been banned from drinking until the guests arrive, and the household guards involved in your little escapade are training themselves half to death in the yard. Compared to them, I’d say you got off rather lightly. Just one letter home. To your dearest love.”

  “It wasn’t even that bad. We just let loose in the city after a long hunt. What’s so terrible about that?”

  “Why are you trying to convince me?” Elise folded her arms. “Talk to my mother.”

  “Are you mad? How could I possibly talk to her? She’s a lady of Wa, a gaze could kill me.”

  “Then, by your reasoning, I, too, am a daughter of Wa.” Her eyes narrowed, glinting with mischief. “Shall I kill you with my gaze?”

  “Well, no, but—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “Look, could you at least ask your mother what was in the letter? Do me a favor?”

  “And why would I do that?” Elise tilted her head, feigning innocence. “So you can find out how you’ll die when you get home? When was the last time you've seen your family anyways?”

  “Seven months, I think,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah… you deserve this. You can’t even use the excuse of duty to save yourself. All you’ve done lately is skulk around the castle like it’s your own pigpen.”

  “There’s an infestation issue,” he said defensively, straightening up. “I’m sure my wife will understand how difficult it’s been for me to visit. My duties to the people simply prevent me.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think? Does that sound convincing?”

  She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It might’ve, if my mother hadn’t already written to your wife. Oh, I'm certain she made sure to include all your heroic deeds. Let’s see...” Elise raised a finger for each offense, ticking them off one by one. “Slaying barrels of wine in Kasava. Protecting the city from disorder by horse racing half-wasted with my father. Damaging property. Guarding my father’s office from grave threats like cold tea and an excess of desserts. And, of course, your infamous ability to instruct soldiers during training while snoring on the castle walls. Truly, your wife must be brimming with pride.”

  "I thought a certain someone said she didn't read the damn letter."

  "Well this certain someone is quite good at guessing my good sir.”

  Keal’s face drained of color. “Could you… could you send a letter of your own? Put in a good word for me?”

  “You want me to contradict my own mother? Do I look suicidal to you?”

  Keal winced, his voice dropping to a murmur. “At least speak to her, then? Please?”

  “No. Do you think it’s easy for me to talk with her? Especially on your behalf? There’s no reward for me in that kind of misery.”

  Keal groaned and covered his face with both hands, his shoulders sagging. “You tell me this just to watch me suffer, don’t you?”

  “I won’t deny it’s entertaining to see that smug face of yours crumble now and then. But no, that’s not the reason. I just thought it’d be polite to warn you before you’re strung up by your beloved, with no time to prepare. As one might even say, despair is most potent in an execution when dread has been left to fester in the isolation of a cell.”

  "Such harsh words are hardly what I’d expect from a young, well-behaved lady,” he said with mocking emphasis. “You're one step closer to earning the title of false gold. Tell me, where do they teach girls these things?"

  "I didn't realize words of caution were considered harsh now. It seems you've misunderstood my intention, I was simply being considerate about your situation."

  “How thoughtful of you…” Keal muttered bitterly, his words saturated with sarcasm.

  Elise finally veered her gaze toward the closed door, her demeanor shifting. “Is my father in there?”

  Keal blinked, momentarily shaken from his morbid thoughts. “Yes. He’s been in there since midday. Hasn’t even stepped out once.”

  “Not even for a break?”

  “Not once,” Keal replied, his voice distant as his imagination conjured increasingly dramatic versions of his untimely demise.

  Elise nodded, then turned to Quinn. “Wait here.”

  Quinn bowed silently in acknowledgment.

  Elise approached the door, her hand hovering over the handle, yet she hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. A cold shiver traced its way up her spine, an old fear suddenly stirring. Why now? Why this unease, after all this time? She hadn’t felt it in months, and had convinced herself it had disappeared entirely. But the moment she laid eyes on the door, the sensation returned, sharp and familiar.

  It reminded her of a time long past, when her memories first came rushing back, raw and overwhelming. Back then, she had been too afraid to even look her father in the eye. Fear had choked her voice, crippled her actions. But as the years went by, the courage had slowly returned, piece by piece, as she realized the truth, that this man, though bearing the same face, was not the father she had once known.

  The man before her now was nothing like the one from her past. He was affectionate, tender, even cheerful, qualities that had once been incomprehensible to her. He watched over her with genuine concern, asked about her health, and expressed his worries. The old father had been cold, distant, never sparing a glance, let alone a word. She couldn’t remember him ever raising his voice, much less curse or drink; this man, on the other hand, would gladly insult the sun if it so much as irritated him. They were polar opposites, as different as night and day. One was clearly more caring, more alive, but Elise would be lying if she said she never missed the old one. Despite the distance between them, she had loved him, accepted him for who he was, a bad father. Perhaps that was why accepting this new version felt like an impossible betrayal. She was stuck in the past.

  Yet no matter how different he was now, the resemblance, his face, his eyes, brought her old fears back to life. It wasn’t as intense as before, the nervousness, the icy pangs of dread, had faded over time. But every so often, they would return, unpredictable and unwelcome. It was as if the old wounds had never quite healed. Speaking her mind, voicing her desires, these were things she could never do with the old man. No... this one was different, she told herself. She had to believe it. It had to be possible now. She could speak, ask for what she wanted, claim some measure of freedom for herself. Because if she couldn’t, if she remained trapped behind these walls, stuck in this new version of her life, this prison of dreams, then what was the point? Her world would burn down, just as it had before.

  “My lady?” Quinn asked, a trace of worry played across her face. “Is something the matter?”

  “No, it’s nothing,” Elise replied, her voice firmer than she felt. She turned the handle and stepped inside, determined to push away the doubts swirling in her mind.

  The office was brightly lit, with lanterns and oil lamps positioned strategically throughout the space. Her father sat behind a desk of dark, polished wood, its surface cluttered with parchments, maps, and the tools of governance: a wax seal, ledgers, and a quill balanced precariously on the edge of an inkpot. When his gaze rose to meet hers, the weariness carved into his face added a gravity that hadn’t been there this morning. The cheerful father at breakfast was gone.

  Standing beside him was the head servant, a man whose age had not dulled the dignity he carried like armor. Long white hair fell to his shoulders, and his beard, neatly groomed, framed a face that seemed carved from stone. He offered her the barest nod, a silent acknowledgment of her presence.

  The air was a tame mix of leather, wax, and a faint spice that lingered like a memory. Elise hesitated at the entrance, the weight of her father’s gaze pulling at her as though it could unravel her composure. Nervousness crept in again, the stiffness in his light brown eyes stirring memories of her lost father. A daunting sense.

  “Come closer,” he said, his voice unintentionally a command wrapped in the softness of kinship.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She stepped forward, her shoes silent against the woven rug. Every movement felt magnified, almost as though the room itself conspired with him to measure her worth. The high-backed chair opposite his desk awaited, like a judgment seat, but she chose to remain standing.

  “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, father,” she said, bowing her head just enough to convey respect without submission. Her voice was steady, though it carried the fragility of someone crossing a frozen lake, uncertain if the surface would hold.

  His gaze softened, though only slightly, like a blade sheathed but not discarded. His fingers lingered over the wax seal, poised to finalize yet another decision. “You wouldn’t be here without reason. I heard the faintest trails of your voice through the door. I’ve been expecting you for some time, though I suspect Keal’s meddling ensured I was kept waiting.”

  "Keal makes for good company father."

  "He is a coarse man, my daughter, and his proximity would do nothing but tarnish your dignity. The mere thought of you two sharing any common ground troubles me deeply."

  "I was under the impression that you and Keal had much in common, more like brothers than mere friends. But you've always described yourself as noble, upright, and principled, someone whose company would only elevate my character. Has this view of yourself changed recently father?"

  The head servant stifled a grin, while her father nearly choked in response.

  "My dear, while it's true that I may have much in common, it's often the small differences that can make the greatest impact," he said cautiously.

  Elise’s gaze swept across the room, finally settling on a small incense pot perched on a distant table near the shelves. The faint tendrils of smoke curled upward, carrying with them a scent she couldn’t quite place. It tugged at her curiosity, grounding her in the moment. “What is this scent? I don’t think I recognize it.”

  Her father barely glanced up, his attention flickering toward the incense as he pressed his seal into the wax with practiced boredom. “Couldn’t tell you. I don’t remember the name.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone indifferent but tinged with the faintest note of interest. “These came from Licia, a gift. She’s been fixated with them recently. Apparently, they’ve become quite popular of late, though I don’t see why. Sure, they smell pleasant enough, but I hear they’re absurdly expensive, even for the likes of us.”

  Elise tilted her head. “How expensive?”

  Her father shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. You’d need to ask Licia.” Reaching over a clutter of ledgers, he retrieved a half-full teacup from a small tray at the edge of his desk. The amber liquid swirled as he took a slow sip.

  “They are called cloves my lady,” the head servant chimed in. “A small box of those incense sticks is worth eleven gold, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Her father froze mid-sip, his eyes widening in disbelief before he nearly choked on the tea. A fit of harsh coughing followed, his hand gripping the desk for support. “Eleven gold? For a small box?” he rasped. "Ho-how small are we talking?"

  "I can't say with certainty but I think no more than a handful my lord."

  “A handful?! Who in their right mind would spend that kind of money on glorified sticks of smoke?”

  “Kishi, apparently,” Elise replied with a knowing look. “But she hates wasting money, so I doubt she bought them without reason.”

  Her father sighed, leaning heavily into the back of his chair. The wood creaked under the weight of his frustration. “I suppose that’s true. Knowing Licia, this could be another trade opportunity. Forgot it, I will not give this another thought. You girls and your emphasis on smells, it'll never make sense to me. But what brings you here my child? I can’t even remember the last time you set foot in my office.” He placed the teacup aside with deliberate care, his hands clasping in front of him as his gaze pinned her in place.

  Elise drew a deep breath, her pulse steadying. The last of her nervousness fell away, burned to ash by a resolve forged in harsher fires. She had survived too much, lived through so many years that she was arguably older than her father ever was. But to think that all this hardened experience could be reduced to nothing more than a fearful girl purely because this man held the same appearance as the old. It felt disgraceful. A shame on her name.

  This wasn’t the same man, and she wasn’t the same girl.

  This fear of the past needed to be dragged out of her and executed on a stump, just like all the other fears she had once held. The only reason it had lingered, unlike the others eradicated in her previous life, was because it had become irrelevant after her father’s death.

  “Soya’s rights. I want your permission Father,” Elise said, her tone dead serious, with no hesitation.

  Her father’s gaze flickered briefly, a slow blankness overtaking his features before surprise and confusion set in. He turned to the head servant, a silent question in his eyes. The servant’s response was subtle, a slight, imperceptible shift in posture, the barest tilt of his head, before he took a deliberate step away from his lord, signaling he wanted no involvement in this matter.

  “But... why, my daughter?” her father asked, his voice cautious, almost strained. “This is quite a sudden request. You’ve shown no interest in the blade before. Why now?”

  “Do I not have the right?” Elise pressed.

  Her father paused, looking at her for a long moment, the weight of his gaze softening, but the uncertainty still in his voice. “Yes, but why? I don’t understand why you would willingly take on such hardship. It’s not like you.”

  “I figured it would be good to know how to protect myself.”

  He shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “Elise, you are safe here. Behind these walls, there is no danger. There is no circumstances in which I would endanger my own daughter. It would be improper, and a waste of effort, for you to learn this.” His voice grew firmer, though his eyes searched hers for some sign of her reasoning. “Look at the high nobles. Look at them and tell me, do their daughters learn the blade?”

  “Have we ever followed the high nobles as examples father? Why bring them up now? And yes, there may be a stigma, but it doesn’t apply to me, a lesser daughter.”

  “Well, I’m against this. You think this is a simple matter? Do you believe learning the blade is some child’s play? It is harsh, unforgiving. It takes years of blood, sweat, and your hands will scar. And for what? It is useless to you.”

  “I ask for your permission only out of formality, father.” Elise’s tone softened, but the strength in her words never wavered. “The Blades of Soya is law written in stone. And I’m fully aware of the hardships required to learn, but I ask that you support my decision.”

  For the first time in her life and the past, she went against his wishes. A step toward independence.

  “Are you standing against me, my daughter?” He voiced with disbelief. “What has gotten into you? Where has this sudden... urge come from?”

  “Father, I do not wish to follow the courts, nor those higher than ourselves. Those women may feel disgust for the art of harm, but I find beauty in it. This desire comes from the fact that I do not simply want to be just a flower.” She bowed deeply. “I beseech you Father, grant me your support. I will learn regardless, for it is my right. But if you see that I have no talent for it, or if I find it too harsh on my body, I will stop. I only ask for your blessing.”

  Her father exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple, weighing his decision.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “Only because this is the first time you’ve ever asked something of me that wasn’t out of courtesy. But if it becomes too much, will you stop?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze sharpened. “And your mother? Has she said anything about this?"

  “I wanted your support first. So not yet.”

  “Wise…” He gestured to the servant, who hastily snatched up the teapot and refilled his cup. Steam curled into the air, vanishing as quickly as it formed. “Is that all? If so, you may leave. I am still not happy with this decision and need time to reflect. But you'll see me come around eventually. I'd sooner be happier with a blade in your hands than I was your first words. But not now, my daughter. You worry me, I cannot even imagine a single wound on your body, even superficial.”

  “There is one more thing, father.”

  He paused, cup halfway to his lips. “Go on.”

  She took a breath. “I do not wish to marry. I ask that you allow me to prove my worth instead.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when her father choked, sputtering tea across the desk. He coughed violently, eyes wide, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something closer to horror.

  “What did you just say?” he rasped, almost yelling.

  “Allow me to go outside.”

  “Wh-wha—no! Absolutely not. I will never allow this.”

  “Why not?”

  “I haven’t even chosen candidates yet, and you’re already declaring you won’t marry? And now you wish to leave? To prove your worth? What madness is this?”

  “Is it madness to desire independence? To earn enough standing to choose my own spouse?” Of course, she had no intention of marrying at all. But it was a convenient excuse to reject anyone who sought her hand.

  His fingers tightened around the porcelain cup. “Have I not provided you with everything you need here? Is there something you’re unhappy with? And if this is about future candidates, then I will even let you choose. There is absolutely no reason for you to leave.”

  “I simply want to explore, outside, not in dreams, or in books, but beyond these walls, like kishe. To earn the same freedoms.”

  His lip curled. “Did Licia pollute your mind? Is that it? She is a peasant, she has rights that you do not. A peasant’s life is not yours to covet. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there? You are my daughter, my precious daughter.” He exhaled, trying to rein in his temper. “Is this why you wanted to learn the blade? You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like outside these walls. It is harsh, nothing like whatever fantasy you’ve conjured in your head. You would have to work, stain your hands, do everything yourself. Here, you have servants who tend to your every need. Out there, you lack the skill, the willpower to survive, and you don’t need to. You are a noble. You shouldn’t even have to lift a hand. Your duties are ledgers and management, leadership with your words, not out there.”

  “If I lack the skills to survive, I will learn father.”

  His knuckles whitened. “What would your mother say? Listen to yourself.”

  “I will convince her, once I convince you.”

  “You will do no such thing.” His voice was iron now. “I will not change my mind on this matter. You will learn the blade, and that is the end of your desire, you will push no further. I will find you an instructor, and you will have all the equipment and time you need. But this idea of independence is out of the question. The only girls who need independence are peasants and those from fallen houses, I will not let you suffer such shame. One day, you will understand that I do this for your own good Elise, out of the worry of my own heart.”

  [Chant of Conquest: In effect].

  "Father, I wish to follow a different path. If I stay here, I'll be miserable. If I marry, it'll be worse."

  "Then don’t marry. Stay as you are. This house has enough room and wealth to shelter you for a lifetime."

  For her father to say such a thing, it was unthinkable. An unproven daughter, to remain unmarried, would bring shame upon him, upon her mother. That he would rather see her caged, even if it meant breaking her spirit, than allow her to step outside, her hands clenched at her sides, irritation burning beneath her skin.

  It might've been an expression of love, how far he was willing to go to keep her safe, how much shame he was willing to bear for a daughter who could neither marry nor prove her worth. Yes, he meant it out of love. She knew that.

  But all she saw was the same twisted love one gives a beloved bird, clipping its wings, so that it may never fly away.

  Both genders had their birthrights, roles they were bound to fulfill simply by being born. For a noblewoman, that was marriage. The only way to escape it was to prove her worth, without that, she was nothing more than a cripple in the eyes of society.

  So her father truly prefers a crippled daughter over one who could walk? Would her past father have done the same?

  "And can you look me in the eye and tell me that this is truly what I want? To be caged here? That this would make me happy?" she said very calmly.

  Her father sighed, his expression heavy with concern. "You’ve always been obedient, perfect, even. You learned everything you were taught, did everything you were told. Never once have you strayed, or caused trouble. Why this change? Why now? Help me understand."

  "You’re not listening, father. My worth, let me earn it. If I fail, if I find myself in over my head, I will return. And I will never speak of this again."

  "That isn’t a good enough reason. I want a proper one. I can’t let you leave simply because you wish to. If the world catered to our wants, we would all live like kings."

  "And what reason could I possibly give, having lived behind these walls my entire life? If you won’t even let me try?"

  "These are dangerous times. The roads are treacherous. You would sooner die out there than here. A man can be cut down before he knows to blink. Even veterans of many hunts die all the same to the wild."

  "If it's the infection you fear, I will stay near the urbanscape and only venture out when times are safer."

  "Daughter—" His voice softened. "I do this out of love. Can you not see that? Are you not listening to me? I worry for you."

  "There is a fine line between excessive concern and responsibility father. A bird would sooner starve frozen by winter if its parents never let it fly, and I do not see my wings here. Would you have stopped me when I took my first steps? Or did you hold my hand as I learned to walk? Did you prevent me from reading? Or did you allow me to learn of the world through books? Why stop me now? Before I even have the chance to see if the world outside is truly what I want? Would you mark the ground here to keep me? Or will you let me leave with your guidance, so that you may see the daughter you raised so well run, under your watchful eye?"

  Silence settled between them.

  For the first time, her father hesitated.

  Is the skill even working? Elise wondered, doubt creeping in. Chant of Conquest was a powerful persuasion skill, at least, according to the knowledge forced into her mind. But this was the first time she had used it. Maybe she should have tested it beforehand?

  Still, it was a skill she would rather not use unless necessary. It felt like pure manipulation. Unless… her father’s objection was simply that strong? Strong enough that not even this skill could bend him?

  Her father sat in silence, fingers drumming against his desk. His expression darkened, lips pressed thin, but true anger had yet to surface. That was something, at least. Then his gaze flicked to the head servant. “Wilfred, help me out here.”

  The old man hesitated, staring at the floor. “My lord, I am old, and my heart is weak.”

  Her father scoffed. “Old fool, what good are you if you won’t speak when I need you? You’re my advisor, my right hand. So say something, answer her in my stead. Tell her how foolish this is.”

  Wilfred shifted uncomfortably. “My lord, I fear my age has made me… stale. As you know, I intend to retire soon.”

  Her father’s patience snapped. “What the hell are you saying? I told you to talk to her, not make excuses.”

  "Father..." Elise pressed, her voice devoid of warmth. “I am not leaving as a mere traveler, but as a Kenji. That is my intention. I go with your authority, under your watch. My role outside will not be much different from within. Let me serve this house beyond these walls, as kishe does. I will never willingly put myself in danger. Let me have this chance.”

  Her father stared at her, lips pressed in a firm line, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled and relented. “But I have a condition.”

  Elise straightened. “I’m listening.”

  “Your mother must approve. If she allows it, I will speak with Licia and have her guide you outside. You will not go out unprepared. I will see to that. But if your mother refuses, this conversation is over.”

  Elise smiled. “Done.”