The day the Grand Army returned victorious, I cradled Silas and joined the bustling crowds. Silas pointed at the general on horseback, who held a young child in his arms, and asked me, "Mama," he chirped, "that man looks just like the papa in the painting!" My grip on Silas tightened, knuckles whitening. "Nonsense," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "That's not him." He once was, perhaps. But now, he wasn't. And he never would be again. He had ascended to the heights of ambition, and I, a mere mortal, couldn't have tethered him even if I’d dared. 1 Ten years ago, a orphaned, destitute waif, I offered myself for indenture to bury my parents. It was Aunt Eleanor Miller, the kind but stern baker, who bought my freedom with the meager coins earned from her daily bread. She handed me a pouch of silver, urging me to buy coffins and lay my parents to rest. Then, with a gruff but decisive air, she formally adopted me into her household, giving me a home and a future. After burying my beloved mother and father, I arrived at Aunt Eleanor’s humble cottage, a small bundle of belongings clutched in my hand. Aunt Eleanor was fierce, her gaze cutting enough to remind you that her home was no sanctuary for idlers. "I took you in," she declared, her voice firm. "You are now part of this family, and you'll pull your weight. Tomorrow, you'll rise with the sun, and I’ll teach you to grind the grain for baking. And during the day, you'll learn your letters with Alistair. A woman, child, needs to read, lest she be easily deceived." At barely five years old, I nodded furiously, my head bobbing like a dizzy bird. Aunt Eleanor settled me in the small lean-to beside her own room. It was barely large enough for a cot. That night, my pillow grew damp with silent tears. The next morning, at the first crow of the rooster, Aunt Eleanor called me to help her prepare the dough. Seeing my swollen eyes, she scoffed, "What's with the dramatics at dawn? Wallowing in self-pity? Without a skill, you're merely a pawn to be bought and sold. A person needs a craft, child, something to anchor them against the tide of hunger. You think your life is hard? You haven't known hardship until you've walked in my shoes. Orphaned young, then widowed with Owen barely out of swaddling clothes. But you, child, you have me. You have the Millers." I kept my head bowed low, daring not to utter a word of dissent. After her lecture, Aunt Eleanor began teaching me the baker's craft. During the day, she and Ethan, her eldest, would carry baskets of fresh bread to sell in the market square. I would stay home, tidying the cottage. In the evenings, Alistair would return from his studies and teach me to read. This quiet routine continued for ten years. When I was fifteen, Ethan, who daily carried our bread to the county market, returned one evening with unsettling news. Whispers of war in the Northern Reaches had reached his ears. He dropped his heavy baskets, his face grim, and strode straight into Aunt Eleanor's room. "Mother," he declared, "I'm joining the army." Aunt Eleanor refused outright. But Ethan was resolute. He refused to eat, to sell bread, or to speak, a silent protest that finally wore down his mother's resolve. What mother could truly deny her son? Aunt Eleanor eventually relented. "You may join," she said, her voice heavy with resignation, "but you must leave an heir." Ethan's mouth dropped open. "Mother, you jest! I'd leave a woman to a life of perpetual widowhood?" Aunt Eleanor glared at him. "If you understand that, then you shouldn't be joining the army! You should be here, selling bread. Didn't you once speak fondly of Violet, the scholar's daughter? I have some savings. If you're truly earnest, I'll send for a matchmaker. If she agrees to marry you, I'll use every coin I have for her dowry." Ethan rejected the offer immediately. "Mother, I cannot ask her to live a life of solitary despair. Besides, if all our silver goes to my marriage, what about Alistair's studies?" Aunt Eleanor's face hardened. "If you can't bear to leave her, then find another. No wife, no war. It's final." Ethan retreated to his room and didn't emerge for the rest of the day. Later, when Aunt Eleanor and Owen had gone to sell bread, Ethan came to find me. "Willow," he asked, his voice hesitant, "would you… would you consider marrying me?" "Why me?" The words tasted bitter, even as they formed. It was the question I most needed answered. Ethan didn't try to hide the truth. "How much can Mother truly earn from her bakery? To drain her life's savings for my dowry… I couldn't bear the thought. Violet… she's the woman I love. I couldn't condemn her to a life of widowhood and despair. And you know Mother's temper; she can't abide idlers. Violet, she's been delicately raised. If I brought her home, Mother would find fault. But you, Willow, you're different. You grew up here, you know our ways. No dowry, no awkwardness between you and Mother. It's… practical. Besides, the family's coin is needed for Alistair's education. You wouldn't want to see his future squandered, would you?" My blood, which moments before had surged with a foolish hope, slowly cooled, chilled by Ethan’s blunt honesty. He laid it all out, so starkly, so rationally, that I had no rebuttal. Aunt Eleanor had taken me in. I was, in essence, bound to the Miller family. For the eldest son to propose marriage? It was, by all accounts, a stroke of immense fortune for a girl like me. "Very well," I agreed to marry the eldest Miller son. When Aunt Eleanor and Owen returned, Ethan took my hand and led me to them. "Mother," he announced, "I will marry Willow." The coin purse Aunt Eleanor clutched in her hand slipped, scattering silver coins across the floor with a metallic clatter. She stumbled backward, then grabbed a broom, wielding it like a weapon as she advanced on Ethan. "I told you to find a wife, not to ruin Willow's life!" she shrieked, swatting him. "I raised Willow as my own daughter! And you, you dare to exploit our kindness, twist it into some twisted sense of obligation?" Owen, meanwhile, quietly pried Ethan’s hand from mine. As Aunt Eleanor thrashed Ethan, Owen chimed in, "It must be Big Brother coercing her, Mother! Willow would never be so forward!" Amidst the ensuing chaos, Aunt Eleanor finally tired. Panting, she lowered the broom and turned to me. "Willow, are you truly willing to marry Ethan?" I smiled and nodded. Ethan was right. I couldn't bear the thought of Aunt Eleanor’s hard-earned savings, accumulated through years of early mornings and late nights at the bakery, all handed over as a dowry. The Miller family had so many needs for their coin. Ethan would need funds for his campaign. Alistair, with his sharp mind, would need substantial money for his Imperial Exams. We couldn't let the lack of an heir doom his academic path. And Owen, with his passion for culinary arts, would need funds for his own shop. Aunt Eleanor sighed. "You don't have to sacrifice your entire life." I quickly shook my head. "Aunt Eleanor, I am willing." She said nothing more. A mother’s desperate wish for an heir, and the girl she had paid for and raised – Aunt Eleanor knew which was more important in the eyes of society. A modest feast with a few neighbors was all it took. Ethan and I were wed. On our wedding night, Ethan’s rough, calloused hands gently traced my cheek. His touch was surprisingly tender. "My dear wife," he murmured, "I must ask you to honor my memory while I am away." Then, his movements became crude, and I almost fainted from the pain. He spoke of treating me like a sister, yet showed no mercy. Ethan labored until the early hours of the morning before finally ceasing. I was utterly exhausted and did not stir until the sun was high. When I finally opened the door, Owen informed me that Ethan had packed his bags and departed at dawn. A month later, I began to vomit uncontrollably. Aunt Eleanor sighed again, then took me to the village healer. I was with child. 2 A year passed in a blur. Silas was two months old. Alistair had passed his Licensed Scholar exams, bringing home a small stipend from the county. Aunt Eleanor, beaming, planned to use the money, along with her meager savings, to purchase a small house with a storefront in the county town. She hadn't even begun to look for a property agent when Alistair came rushing back to the village. His scholar's cap was askew, and he was panting, breathless, when he burst through the door. "Mother," he gasped, "the South is in chaos! Refugees are everywhere! Master Davies says we must flee north!" At his words, Owen suddenly yelped, "My bakery stall! What about it? I just started it up!" Aunt Eleanor and Alistair both glared at him. I clutched Silas tighter, my hands trembling. If we fled north, what would happen if Ethan returned and couldn't find us? Seeing my distress, Alistair gently took Silas from my arms, murmuring comforting words to the baby. A quarter of an hour later, Aunt Eleanor made her decision. Pack only what was essential. We would head north. Alistair had persuaded eight other families from our village, along with his own tutor, Master Davies, and his family, to join us. Master Davies secured our travel permits. The very day they arrived, we left Valeria and headed north. The chaos in the South spread faster than anyone had imagined. At the city gates of Valeria, the guards reviewed our permits. One of them nodded to Alistair. "You were wise to leave." Alistair subtly slipped a silver coin into the guard's hand. The guard leaned closer, whispering, "The South is utterly engulfed in rebellion. Prince Aldrich of the Southern Marches has risen, and his forces have razed every town they've touched! The county magistrate has declared that in three days, no one from the South will be permitted entry, fearing they might be rebels. If you wish to be truly safe, you should travel two more cities north, to the hamlet of Stonehaven near the capital. It's vast and sparsely populated, exactly where new settlers are needed." Alistair thanked the guard for the warning, then guided our small caravan forward. We traveled for another ten days, finally reaching Stonehaven, just as the guard had described. It was indeed a quiet, sprawling place. Our group rented temporary rooms at the town's small inn. Everyone soon agreed to pool their resources, purchase a large plot of land on the outskirts of town, and construct a shared compound – ten small cottages within a single large enclosure. The bonds forged on the arduous journey had become strong. Three months later, the compound was complete, and we all moved into our new homes. Owen's grin stretched from ear to ear. The new kitchen had been specially designed for him; he had been growing weary of his apprenticeship at the town's tavern for the past three months. Now, with a new home, he could experiment with new recipes to his heart's content. Alistair, meanwhile, continued his studies under Master Davies. He had learned much about governance and the common folk during our journey. Master Davies believed, without a doubt, that Alistair would be ready to test his mettle in the Imperial Exams the following autumn. 3 Another three years passed, and we moved again, this time from Stonehaven to Kingsport, the capital itself. Two years prior, Alistair had astonished everyone by placing first in the provincial Imperial Exams, earning the title of Top Scholar of the Province. With a letter of recommendation from Master Davies, he was accepted into the Royal Collegiate. Naturally, we followed him to the capital. Upon our arrival in Kingsport, Aunt Eleanor publicly introduced me as her distant niece, whose husband was fighting in the Northern wars, and who had come with her young son to seek refuge with her. Alistair dedicated himself to preparing for the next round of Imperial Exams. Owen and I took on the responsibility of supporting the family. Aunt Eleanor, in turn, became Silas's primary caretaker. Owen and I opened a small eatery together. He was the head chef, and I managed the front of the house. Business boomed. We were busy from dawn till dusk, even hiring several assistants. We earned roughly fifty silver coins a month – enough to purchase ten girls like my former self. One day, I overheard some patrons discussing the latest news. "I hear a grand victory has been won in the Northern Reaches," one said. "The Grand Army is due to return to the capital any day now." "Don't just listen to rumors," another scoffed. "My son sent word. They'll be back in two days!" I listened intently. A victory in the North? Ethan had gone North. I wondered if he was even still alive. At another table, a group of young men, clearly of noble birth, were also speaking. "Is Duke Consort Maxwell returning as well?" one asked. "Indeed," another replied. "Word is he married some common general's daughter." "Not just married," a third interjected, "I hear she's already borne him a child!" "Someone actually dared to marry that harridan, Lady Isolde?" A wave of laughter erupted from the table. "Oh, come now, do you think everyone is as discerning as we noble gentlemen? Those common soldiers, if a powerful hand reaches out, they'll cling to it like a drowning man!" Lady Isolde, the woman they spoke of, was a renowned warrior, a lady general whose prowess rivaled any man's. I wondered who had been fortunate enough to catch her eye. 4 The day the Grand Army returned to Kingsport, Alistair specifically requested leave from the Royal Collegiate. Now twenty-one, Alistair possessed the radiant countenance of polished jade and eyes that sparkled like distant stars. He bowed deeply to me. "Willow," he said, his voice gentle, "I would be honored if you and Silas would accompany me to witness the Grand Army's return today." I nodded in agreement. Even if he hadn't asked, I would have gone. I yearned to see if Ethan was among the returning soldiers. For five years, the Miller family had sent countless letters to the border garrisons, yet not a single reply had ever arrived. I wondered if Ethan was still alive. If he was, why had he sent no word home for five long years? After we were ready, Alistair cradled Silas in his arms and led me to the main thoroughfare. He guided me to a window seat on the second floor of a tea house overlooking the street – a spot he had reserved a month in advance. This meant he had known about the army's return for weeks, yet he had never mentioned it at home. The vantage point was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I could clearly see Ethan, astride his warhorse, accepting a young child from the red-clad woman riding beside him. His gaze, as he looked at the child, was brimming with fatherly affection. That child bore a striking resemblance to Silas. Silas, sensing my distress, pointed at the general again. "Mama," he chirped, "that man looks a bit like Uncle Alistair, doesn't he?" Alistair, standing beside me, must have seen it too. He, who was usually so composed, so unperturbed by anything, now cast his gaze downward, a hint of guilt in his posture. Silas, oblivious to his uncle's sudden silence, continued to point. "No, wait!" Silas's eyes widened. "He looks more like the papa in the painting! But Mama, why is Papa holding someone else's baby?" The "papa in the painting" was a portrait Alistair had drawn for Silas, to help him recognize his father. I glanced around, ensuring no one was paying us any heed, then frantically covered Silas's mouth. "Nonsense!" I choked out, my voice raw. "That's not your papa." He once was, perhaps. But now, he wasn't. And he never would be again. He had ascended to the heights of ambition, climbed to a position of power, and found his heart's desire. Silas and I, we couldn't have stopped him. Silas struggled, prying at my hand with his small fingers. Alistair stepped forward, bowing deeply to me. "I... I didn't know…" His eyes, usually so clear, now held a rare flicker of remorse. I shook my head, cutting him off. "It's nothing. It's not your fault." How could it be his fault? He had merely allowed me to witness the truth with my own eyes. A general riding a warhorse would be at least a fifth-rank official. And a fifth-rank general would certainly not be nameless. If he had a name, Alistair, a scholar at the Royal Collegiate, would surely know it. Knowing this, he would have investigated Ethan. I just wondered what would become of Silas now that Ethan had married into a powerful family. Alistair cleared his throat, his voice low. "I truly had no idea they had a child. This... this scene, it was not what I intended. I swear, Willow, the Miller family will make this right." Silas blinked, looking from me to Alistair, his small face etched with confusion. "Uncle Alistair, is that Papa's baby he's holding? What about me, then? Will Papa recognize me?" Alistair reached out to embrace Silas, but for the first time, Silas pulled away from his uncle. "Uncle Alistair," Silas whispered, his voice trembling, "Silas is... a little sad." With that, he buried his face in my embrace, and in moments, his tiny shoulders began to tremble with silent sobs. Alistair looked utterly devastated. "Willow…" I spoke, cutting him off once more. "Let's go home. Silas needs his nap." Alistair nodded, his face etched with regret, and led us back to the cottage. 5 After I had finally lulled Silas to sleep, Aunt Eleanor herself came to find me. "Willow," she said, her face a canvas of remorse as she came forward and took my hands, "Alistair told me." I shook my head instinctively. "No, Aunt Eleanor…" She squeezed my hands. "Don't you dare shake your head! My mistake is my mistake. My family, the Millers, we have exploited you. Ethan… he's a disgrace. Listen to me, child, we'll cast that faithless wretch aside. You choose: Alistair or Owen. They will marry you." Aunt Eleanor's words, so shockingly unconventional, stunned me. How had this conversation turned to Alistair and Owen? She continued to persuade me. "Alistair said the marriage contract between you and that faithless wretch is a forgery. If it's a forgery, then you're technically still unmarried. Since we came to Kingsport, I've told everyone you are my niece, and Owen calls you 'Big Sister.' No one knows our true relationship. If you don't despise them, you can choose either of my two sons. He was unrighteous, so you have no obligation to remain bound to him." Owen burst through the door, yelling, "Mother, have you lost your mind? Marry Willow off to me?" Aunt Eleanor shot him a dagger stare. "Your brother Alistair isn't even married yet, it’s not your turn!" Owen bristled. "Mother, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Alistair's feelings for Willow are as clear as day, and instead of stopping him, you're encouraging him! Don't you realize," he gasped, his voice lowering in a dramatic whisper, "that someone with a compromised reputation can't become a royal official?" Aunt Eleanor gave Owen a sharp slap. "And I don't realize? I realize a great many things, young man! You listen to me: Willow is your cousin. And as for Silas, he is the posthumous child of her late husband." Owen clutched his stinging cheek. "Big Brother is still alive! How can you, his own mother, wish him dead?" Aunt Eleanor grabbed her walking stick and swung it at Owen. "I'd rather he died out there than live to sicken me! In this life, I have been true to the heavens and to the earth, but to Willow… only to Willow do I feel I have wronged." Owen dodged, still grumbling, "Who exactly is Big Brother sickening?" Aunt Eleanor’s stick whizzed faster. "He's sickening me, you dog! To dare to marry another, and to have a child with her!" Owen stopped dodging. Aunt Eleanor’s stick, unchecked, landed heavily on his leg. He yelped in pain, clutching his shin. "Alistair never said Big Brother married again! Hmph, I thought I'd live a life of luxury with Big Brother as a general. Luxury, my foot!" Aunt Eleanor raised her stick again. "Luxury? His 'luxury' is something I wouldn't touch. I'd fear the heavens' wrath!" Owen quickly darted behind Alistair, who had just entered the room. "Mother, don't hit me! Alistair's here, hit him instead!" Alistair, facing his enraged mother, dropped to his knees. "Mother," he said, his voice firm, "I wish to seek Willow's hand in marriage." I gasped, utterly horrified, and sank to the floor. "No!" I cried out, loud and clear. "I will not!" What a ridiculous notion! Alistair had dedicated decades to his studies; his Imperial Exams were just around the corner. He couldn't risk his career, his reputation, for something so scandalous. Owen's eyes widened. "Alistair, you're incredible!" Aunt Eleanor, her anger momentarily forgotten, helped Alistair to his feet, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. "My good son." I shook my head vigorously. "I will not! I will not marry Alistair!" Aunt Eleanor asked me why. "I have no romantic feelings for Alistair," I stated honestly. Owen sighed dramatically. "Alas, unrequited love." Alistair bowed to both of us, a sad smile on his face. "My apologies for my presumption." He then rose, a slight stagger in his step, and quietly left the room. The commotion finally subsided.
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