The garden was a peaceful haven in the late afternoon, its vibrant blossoms swaying gently in the breeze. Ophelia sat on a low stone bench near a flowering hedge, her embroidery hoop balanced delicately in her lap. She was working on a design of intertwined vines and blossoms, her stitches neat and precise. However, the moment's tranquillity allowed her to forget the many tensions of her life briefly.

  Her focus broke when she heard the unmistakable sound of voices—high, mocking tones that instantly made her stomach tighten. She glanced up to see two of her half-siblings approaching: Lord Percival, the eldest legitimate son, and Lady Evelyne, one of the daughters born to her father’s fourth wife. Their fine clothes and superior airs made Ophelia feel immediately out of place, even though she had every right to be there.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t our little tower-dweller,” Percival said, his smirk sharp as a blade. Evelyne giggled, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

  “What are you doing out here, little mouse?” Evelyne asked, her voice saccharine and cruel. “Surely you should be in your little hovel, away from polite company?”

  Ophelia calmly continued her stitching, refusing to rise to their bait. “I wasn’t aware that enjoying the garden was restricted to cox-combs.”

  Percival’s smile faded, replaced by a glint of annoyance. “Little sister. It’s about the air you’re polluting with your… presence.”

  Evelyne chimed in; her tone mockingly sweet. “Why don’t you run along now? We wouldn’t want you to dirty the flowers, too.”

  The barbs stung, but Ophelia refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Carefully, she gathered her embroidery and rose to her feet. “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you further,” she said coolly. “Enjoy your time in the garden.”

  She walked away with her head held high, even as their laughter followed her. Inside, her blood simmered with anger and frustration. This was the world she had to navigate—one where her legitimacy as a noble meant little to her siblings. It was hard being in a world where they still believed in the divine right and the notion of blue blood. Sometimes it Had Ophelia wanting to choke every sexist monologue the men around her spewed.

  Ophelia found Ser Colin polishing his sword near the small stable that housed her new horse, Ember. He looked up as she approached, concern flickering at her expression.

  “Ser Colin,” she said firmly, “saddle Ember. We’re going for a ride.”

  Colin hesitated, his youthful face betraying his uncertainty. “Outside the estate, my lady? Are you certain that’s wise? I was instructed not to let you—”

  “Colin,” she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through his excuses. “I am not asking for your opinion. I need fresh air, and I will have it. Now, saddle the horse.” The young knight flushed but nodded, rising quickly to obey.

  Soon, Ember was saddled and ready. Ophelia mounted the mare with practised ease, her anger easing slightly as she felt the reins in her hands and the solid weight of the horse beneath her. Ser Colin mounted his steed, a sturdy gelding, and followed as she guided Ember through the estate gates.

  The road stretched before them, winding through rolling hills and meadows bursting with wildflowers. The fresh air filled her lungs, and the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt soothed her frayed nerves. Ophelia urged Ember into a canter, the wind whipping her hair behind her like a dark banner.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Where are we heading, my lady?” Colin called, struggling to keep up.

  “Anywhere,” she replied, her voice carried on the wind. “Anywhere that isn’t here.”

  They rode for what felt like hours, the estate shrinking in the distance. Eventually, they stopped near a quiet stream, the water sparkling under the sun. Ophelia dismounted and let Ember graze, sitting on the soft grass by the stream’s edge. Colin remained nearby, his unease evident, but he said nothing.

  For the first time that day, Ophelia felt at peace. Here, away from the suffocating hierarchy of the castle, she could breathe. The gentle gurgle of the stream and the rustle of leaves in the breeze was a peaceful thing. She thought that soon these things would become a luxury. As her twelfth birthday approaches her use to her paternal family would be measured and from there, her future decided.

  “Thank you, Ser Colin,” she said quietly, her voice soft but sincere. “For coming with me.”

  The young knight inclined his head, his expression softening. “Of course, my lady. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

  Ophelia smiled faintly.

  As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the tranquil stream, Ophelia rested against the trunk of an old oak tree. Ser Colin stood nearby, tending to the horses, his movements efficient but tinged with an air of melancholy she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Colin,” Ophelia said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

  He turned, brushing a hand through his sandy brown hair. “Yes, my lady?”

  She gestured for him to sit beside her on the grass. After a moment’s hesitation, he obliged, settling a short distance away, his posture respectful yet relaxed.

  “You’ve been quiet today,” she observed. “I appreciate your company, but I don’t think I’ve ever really asked… what brought you here? To my father’s service, I mean.”

  Colin hesitated, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword as if seeking comfort. “It’s not much of a story, my lady,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “But if you wish to know…”

  “I do,” Ophelia encouraged. “You’re one of the few people I trust, Colin. I’d like to know more about you.”

  He seemed surprised by her words, his blue eyes widening briefly before he nodded. “Very well. I suppose it starts with my mother. She was a scullery maid in a lesser noble’s household. The lord there…” He paused, his expression hardening. “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t kind, nor was he particularly careful about where his children ended up. I was one of them.”

  Ophelia’s heart sank at the implications. “An illegitimate child, then?”

  “Yes,” Colin admitted, his tone matter of fact. “No magic, no noble title—just a boy who was lucky enough to catch the attention of a retired knight who needed a squire. He saw potential in me, I suppose. Or maybe he just pitied me. Either way, he taught me how to fight, and that skill eventually earned me a place in your father’s household.”

  “That’s a remarkable story,” Ophelia said, sincerity lacing her voice. “You turned a difficult start into something worthwhile. Not many can say the same.”

  Colin shook his head. “It’s not as grand as you make it sound, my lady. I’m just a man with a sword, doing what I can to survive.”

  Ophelia studied him for a moment, noting the way his gaze lingered on the horizon, as though searching for something far beyond their immediate surroundings. “Do you ever dream of more than just survival?” she asked gently.

  He looked at her, startled by the question. “Dreams?” he echoed, as though the concept were foreign. “I suppose I haven’t given it much thought. My life’s always been about getting through the day.”

  “But if you could dream,” she pressed, “what would you want?”

  Colin was silent for a long time, his expression contemplative. Finally, he said, “Peace, I think. A quiet place where I don’t have to fight, where I don’t have to prove my worth every moment of every day. A life where I’m not judged for where I came from.”

  Ophelia smiled faintly, her heart aching with understanding. “I feel the same,” she admitted. “I’m tired of the games, the cruelty, the constant battle to justify my existence. I just want a simple, peaceful life in a warm castle.”

  Colin regarded her with a newfound respect, his usual guardedness giving way to something warmer. “It’s strange,” he said after a pause. “Hearing a noble speak like that. Most would think peace is beneath them.”

  “Most have never had to fight for anything real,” Ophelia replied softly. “They take their privilege for granted. But you and I… we know better.”

  For a moment, the two of them simply sat there, the quiet of the countryside wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. Perhaps, she thought, she wasn’t so alone after all.