For Anice, life in Mayhaven could be as still as a cloudless sky. Though the city was lively and unique, not much changed in the way that people regarded her. Sure, they were polite on the surface, but she knew what was said behind her back. In public, she heard the voices that were a tad too loud to be considered whispers, knew that their owners hadn’t cared to make the adjustment. Every time she wandered through the streets, she would catch glimpses of judgemental frowns, was used to glancing eyes and hushed conversation.

To the nobles, she was an example for their children on how not to behave, the rash and boisterous Silverkin girl that lacked all restraint. She cared not if she dirtied her clothes, no matter how expensive they might be, and said anything that came to mind. She was aware that people didn’t like it, since she was supposed to set an example for the other children, being the count’s daughter and all. But why should she do that? She’d rather have fun than act a certain way just because everybody wanted her to. Besides, she hated those adults that looked down on her, and their dainty daughters that lived the most boring of lifestyles. Sowing and drinking tea, and crying at every wrinkle that formed in their gowns. What did she owe them?

Compared to the cities that her uncles ruled over, Mayhaven was relatively small. People liked to talk about her, and word travelled fast in such an out of the way place. Lately, people had been talking about the fact that she was an only child, as if that was somehow her fault. If her father didn’t sire a male heir, then his titles and lands would pass on to one of her many cousins, likely one of the second sons. She didn’t get along with her cousins, none except Alistar. He was the only one that didn’t bully her, as the others did whenever they came to visit.

To most commoners she was a pest, a thin sheet of ice to tread lightly upon, a fire waiting to consume their children should they make the mistake of allowing them to play together. That was why all of the other children avoided her, because their parents had forbidden them from keeping her company.

The same was even true for the commoners. Whose words would the lord believe when a fight broke out in the market square, those of the cobbler’s boy, or his own daughter’s? This was why everybody was so false in front of her, and also why she didn’t care for their opinions. Just because she always forgot to don her oval and skipped out on the occasional mass, because she avoided those uptight fools of similar pedigree and hung around a bunch of bastards, why did they have to look down upon her, and keep her at arm’s length like a sick dog?

At least she had her friends. They didn’t care who her father was, never gave thought to her social status. They didn’t care what she wore, or what she said. Around them, she could curse all she wanted, and most importantly, she could be wrong. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to see them as often as she’d like to. She wasn’t allowed away the manor house on her own, and on the rare occasion that she was, it wasn’t for long. She worked her way around these constraints by claiming to set off for Lessa’s whenever she wanted to leave, whom she would meet halfway. Every time, her friend would have told her parents that she was off to visit Anice, something that they coordinated with one another every time they met up with their friends. All they had to do was shake off their escorts, though they couldn’t do it often since it usually got them into trouble.

As things were, she only got to see the gang around once a week. Because of this, life in Mayhaven had grown stagnant. She could only play the same games so many times, and alone, at that. As fate would have it, things changed one day with the arrival of a rugged, bandaged, smelly boy who looked to be around her age.

Mister Alder, her father’s best friend and most trusted confidant, had come home with an unexpected souvenir from a neighbouring kingdom where he’d been off on business. He brought along a young boy, covered in blood and unconscious, who he claimed to have found by the roadside on his way through the Tall Mountains. Since when was Alder one to bring peasants back to the mansion? She had been shocked, but the boy’s condition had been so horrendous that she couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Something about him looked familiar, as if she’d seen him regularly but only in passing, though she knew that she’d never laid eyes on him.

Her father had taken a peculiar interest in the boy, sometimes spending ten or even twenty minutes watching him sleep in the room they’d put him in downstairs. Her father, as busy as he was, spent just as much time watching their unknown guest sleep as he spent with her. He said he wasn’t sure why, but something didn’t feel right about the child.

The boy had a mess of tangled hair that reached past his shoulders, the long, knotted strands somewhere between sunshine gold and honey brown. His face, though overshadowed by a hanging mane, had a clear complexion, his features generously distributed in a pleasant array. He had big hands for his age, ridiculously rough with hardened calluses—she couldn’t help but trace his palm with her finger once or twice whenever she accompanied her father to check up on him. Without a doubt, this boy was definitely a peasant. He had to be, since he had more muscle than the other boys her age, and even the older ones.

She found it strange, however, that his skin was so pale. What sort of peasant had never seen the sunlight? Whatever his origins, she planned on questioning him once he woke up. How had he travelled so deep into the mountains? She had never been allowed that far from Distan, and was curious about what it was like out there. Unfortunately, after three days passed, he still had not woken up. At this point, her father’s healers were spending more and more time with him, keeping him alive with constant and careful application of their energies.

Two weeks after the arrival of their new guest, her father left to meet with some of the house servants after spending a short time with her in the art hall. They had been staring at portraits of deceased relatives, while her father reminisced about the ones he’d known. He had a habit of staring at an old painting that her aunt had painted years ago, just before she moved off to some faraway kingdom. It was his uncle’s prized possession, which proved that she had been a grand painter. Still, the piece was nice enough, but it was nowhere near the level of the masterpieces that her father usually coveted. For as long as Anice could remember, he spent more time in front of that painting than he did with her. He was a busy man, too busy to talk to her on most days outside of mealtimes, and yet she always found him standing silently in the hallway, staring at the painting like it was a window into the past.

She had grown to detest the piece. If it weren’t around, then her father might find more time to spend with her, even if it was only a few extra minutes each day. Her friends felt uncomfortable visiting, and she knew that her father would never approve of their presence here, so she found herself painfully bored at most times of the day.

Right now, her focus was on the painting as she struggled to pinpoint exactly what was so grand about it. That’s when she was interrupted.

“E—excuse me.”

Turning, she was startled to see the boy from the basement. He stood awkwardly at the far end of the hall, out of place in only his leggings. Soon enough he was introducing himself, but evidently he thought her undeserving of his full name, since he only gave her his first. Her, the count’s daughter, undeserving of a peasant’s name? Angered, she chose to ignore him. He had been asleep for weeks, so his mind mustn’t have been in its right order. Besides, she was still in the midst of studying the wretched painting. When he wouldn’t leave her alone, she had no choice but to respond.

Though their conversation was short, she could see that he was terribly intelligent. She’d never got along with any of the brainier children, with the exception of Corrie, as children of that sort always tended to look down on her. This boy was no exception. He deliberately used complicated words to confuse her. When she expressed her disagreement—how could she admit to this know-it-all that she was wrong?—he insulted her to her face. She’d jumped on other kids for less, and it was at that point that her patience snapped. She struck him as a warning to remind him of his place, but his insult had angered her and soon enough they were locked in a frantic struggle on the floor.