After Lyanna left the Valeborne House, she headed straight home.
Her home was a humble old cottage near the woods — a place that didn't quite fit her once-luxurious past.
The cottage smelled of damp wood and boiled herbs.
Lyanna knelt beside the low bed, gently wringing a cloth and placing it on her father's brow. His skin burned with fever, but his hands were cold — trembling, skeletal things that once held her high above the world when she was just a child.
His breathing came in shallow rasps.
"You came back early," he murmured, voice barely louder than a whisper.
"I didn't stay long," she replied softly, smoothing the tangled hair from his temple. "They didn't offer much tea."
It was a lie. A small one. A necessary one.
Her father gave a dry chuckle, the kind that rattled in his chest. "You always were a terrible liar, Lyanna."
She smiled sadly. "I must be improving. You didn't catch me until now."
He opened his eyes — pale, glassy, and rimmed red from fever. But still, they held clarity. They held her.
"You shouldn't have gone there. Elaric… he'll never forgive us. Not after what we know. Not after what your mother tried to—"
"I don't care what he forgives," Lyanna cut in gently. "I care that you live. That we leave this cursed land. Somewhere warm. By the sea, maybe. You always said the coast smelled like freedom."
He closed his eyes again, but his lips twitched into a smile. "And the fish smelled like hell."
Lyanna laughed — a sound far too soft and rare these days. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, her fingers curling around his.
"I'll come back soon. I promise."
---
The Market Road — Next Morning
Lyanna kept her head low and her cloak pulled tighter around her shoulders.
The market near the Valeborne border bustled with morning chatter — the clamor of merchants hawking bread and silk, women arguing over salt prices, and the clang of blacksmith hammers in the distance. She needed to pass through quickly and unnoticed. But fate had a way of tripping even the most careful feet.
She turned a corner sharply — and slammed straight into someone.
A hard chest. Broader than she expected. A warm hand steadied her by the arm, gloved but firm.
Lyanna stumbled back, instantly muttering, "Forgive me—!"
She stopped when her eyes caught the man's cloak. It was ash-black in color and looked worn… but Lyanna knew better.
The fabric alone could pay for her cottage — maybe even two.
It was the rare kind used by the Lord's elite guards and huntsmen. Designed to blend into shadow, to become one with nightfall. It was deceptively plain — but unmistakable. Only the highest-ranking men wore it. And they were never to be underestimated.
This man… he wasn't here for shopping.
She stared for a second too long, her gaze landing on the only part of him visible — rose-tinted lips and a sharp, masculine chin.
Realizing herself, she looked away quickly. It was rude to stare — especially at someone like him.
"Sorry for bumping into you," she said quickly. "Forgive me. I'm in a hurry."
The man didn't speak.
He was tall, cloaked, hood drawn low, posture too poised for a commoner. His silence wasn't hostile, but it was unsettling — like being measured and weighed without consent.
She kept her eyes down. She couldn't afford trouble.
But just then, she caught a glimpse of something: a ring on his finger. A blood-red ruby, gleaming like fire.
Not just any ruby. The Queen of Hearts.
Only nobles of the highest standing wore such a gem — and fewer still bore it in public. It wasn't just valuable. It was a signature of bloodline.
A nobleman? Dressed like a hunter?
That didn't make sense. Either he was a thief... or a noble in disguise. And if it was the latter, what was someone of that rank doing alone in a market like this?
Lyanna didn't have time to wonder. She was already running late. And if she arrived late to training, Catherine's tongue would sharpen faster than any blade.
As she turned to leave, she felt the man's gaze follow — not curious, not lecherous. Just... assessing.
One moment passed. Then another.
And then he was gone.
So was she.
By the time she dared to look back, the man had vanished — swallowed by the crowd like a shadow never meant to be seen.
---
Arrival at the Valeborne Summer Estate
The Valeborne summer estate stood like a yawning beast before her.
Unlike the main house, this property was smaller, more secluded — nestled at the edge of a forest clearing with high walls and empty courtyards. It had once been a retreat for noble daughters to "refine their manners" away from court eyes. Now, it would be her cage.
Two maids waited at the entrance, both dressed in dusty gray and staring down their noses as if she'd tracked in manure.
"You're late," one of them said.
"No greeting?" Lyanna asked flatly.
The maid blinked. "You're not here to be greeted. You're here to be groomed."
Before she could reply, they ushered her inside.
A bath had already been drawn — steaming and filled with rose petals that did little to hide the sting of harsh soaps. Her hands were scrubbed raw. Her hair oiled. Her old boots tossed away like trash.
By the time they laced her into the first training dress — pale blue and stiff at the shoulders — her body already ached.
"Lady Catherine will arrive shortly," the second maid said. "She insisted on overseeing your etiquette lessons herself."
How lovely.
Not like she hadn't learned these lessons before. She'd known how to sit, smile, curtsy, and suffer before she could write her own name. The rules of high society had been drilled into her bones — and they never quite left, even after her family had fallen.
Now she'd have to pretend to learn them all over again… with Catherine as her instructor.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
As Lyanna sat stiffly in front of the mirror, her reflection didn't look back.
Just a stranger wearing borrowed skin.
And the games had only just begun.
---