With the man gone, things felt lighter. The following morning, I woke to Adam gently shaking my leg. Groggy, I blinked up at him, my gaze settling on his light amber eyes, their warm hue faintly illuminated by the morning light.
"Tunia wants to speak to you," he muttered. His voice was soft, almost too quiet, and it struck me how subdued both he and his brother always seemed to be. "To explain some things." He waited for me to nod, and once I did, he coughed lightly and stepped out of the room, leaving me to gather myself and prepare for what was to come.
Wearing the same clothes as the day before, I glanced into an old mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. Standing on my tiptoes, I wiped away the thick layer of dust clouding the glass.
A stranger stared back at me.
It struck me then—I had never truly seen myself before. Long, curly black hair, wild and unkempt, framed a face streaked with dirt. My expression wasn't exactly friendly, almost severe in its natural state. Perhaps that was why so many seemed uneasy around me.
I leaned closer, studying the reflection, but it felt distant, like looking at someone else entirely.
Pushing the strange feeling aside, I left the room and walked down the corridor. Men and women passed by, paying me no mind, their hurried steps and quiet exchanges giving the impression of indifference. Stranger still, I noticed other children—some my age, others a little older or younger. They, too, moved silently through the halls, yet none of them spared me a glance, and I chose not to engage. What kind of place was this? It certainly didn't feel like a castle.
Rounding a corner, I found her speaking in hushed tones to a servant. Her eyes quickly found mine, and she straightened slightly. "Ah... there you are," she said lightly. "Apologies for disappearing so abruptly last night." Without waiting for a reply, she gestured toward a small wooden door. "Come with me."
I followed her without protest as she led me outside into a courtyard enclosed by a tall wooden fence, its sharp edges more like spikes than any decorative barrier and smelling of damp timber. The grass beneath my feet was yellowed and neatly trimmed, and flowers lined the perimeter in precise, orderly rows. Yet the cold air hit me like a wall, making me long for the relative warmth of the keep.
"Soon," Petunia said with a small nod, as if reading my thoughts. "You may be a child, but I have to explain some things, so you aren't useless."
Useless? The word seemed harsh. Useless for what?
She began walking slowly, her hands clasped together in front of her. "This is Widowskeep," she said. "It was once a sanctuary for nobles centuries ago. Now, it's been reformed into..." She hesitated. "Well, let's call it a care place for children. I'll assign you certain tasks, and in return, you'll be provided food and water."
She abruptly stopped in front of an old stable shack, its wooden boards worn and splintered. "You will also meet with someone weekly to discuss your progress," she added.
"Progress on what?" I asked.
Petunia tilted her head slightly as a smile tugged at her lips. "Mm. So you do know how to speak. They'll tell you about that in due time. But not just any child is allowed to stay in Widowskeep. There's a reason you're here."
I shifted uncomfortably under her words. "Why can't you tell me?"
"It would go against what I've been told," she said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. Her grip was steady, almost comforting. "If it were up to me, you wouldn't be here, Roderich. Life has a way of throwing you into places you'd rather not be, and you must deal with it. It's the best lesson you'll ever learn."
She gave my shoulder a brief squeeze before letting go. "Now..." She stepped aside and nodded toward a girl sitting beneath a lonesome tree. "Lily will show you your first task. Go on."
I sighed. It seemed everyone here had something to tell me—where to go, what to do. Resigned, I trudged forward, the grass crunching faintly beneath my feet.
As I approached, the girl glanced up. Lily was older than me, perhaps in her early teens, with short, frizzy brown hair and lightly tanned skin that caught the faint light filtering through the courtyard. Her ears perked as she noticed me, and with a quick motion, she clasped the book she'd been reading shut.
I said nothing, and neither did she. The silence stretched between us, but I must not have noticed how awkward it had grown until she furrowed her brow. Another moment passed, and with a sharp breath, she finally broke it.
"You're Roderich, right?" she asked, her voice sweet, like honey dripping from a spoon. I gave a silent nod, unsure of what else to do.
"Nice to meet you," she added, holding out her hand. I hesitated for a moment before taking it, giving it a quick shake. Perhaps I did it oddly, as her face twisted into a curious expression, her head tilting slightly. "What family were you from?" she asked, her tone shifting, as if testing the waters of her own curiosity.
That was a good question. Memories of my parents were hazy at best, except for my mother. Her soft features and round nose stood out, framed by silky black hair that fell like a curtain around her face. I remembered her clearly, and I remembered the street of my old home—a humble, worn-down shack that never drew attention. That was before Phillip came.
I eventually shook my head in response to Lily's question.
"So, you don't know?" she mused. "That's strange."
"Why?" I asked quietly.
Lily laughed, a soft, airy sound, as though my question amused her. "Everyone in Widowskeep is a noble's bastard," she said matter-of-factly. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied my expression, waiting for a reaction.
"You know that, right?" the girl added, and when my dumbfounded look lingered, she sighed. "Do you even know what bastard means?"
"Yes," I muttered, and she responded with a short hum of acknowledgment.
"Then you must be different. Curious," The girl said. Without giving me time to respond, she shifted the conversation abruptly. "I'll be showing you how to do chores around the garden."
Lily stood, brushed off her skirt, and motioned for me to follow. The next ten, perhaps twenty, minutes were spent rummaging through an old shack that reeked of mildew. The floorboards, softened by weeds and grass pushing through the cracks, felt uneven underfoot, while piles of clutter gathered dust in the corners.
From a crooked shelf, Lily withdrew a pair of small, rusty shears, the metal dull and mottled with age. She demonstrated how to trim the plants outside. Snip, snip, snip. Tiny bits of leaf and plant floated gently to the ground with every cut.
At first, the task was oddly satisfying, almost fun. But as time wore on, the monotony set in. Snip after snip, the repetition became tiresome, and the rusty handles of the shears began to dig into my fingers, leaving them sore and raw.
Rain began to fall overhead, soft and persistent. Glancing up, I saw the sky painted in thin gray swirls of restless clouds. Yet, to my surprise, I wasn't allowed to stop. Lily insisted that every bush be 'checked' once over before we could finish. Cold droplets struck my skin, but even then, my mind began to drift.
The bastard sons of nobles. Her words echoed in my thoughts, and in my young mind, they didn't make sense. Why would nobles send their children to a place like this? A place so cold, so hidden from the rest of the world?
The more I thought about it, the more a troubling idea began to take shape. Perhaps they were kept here to silence public outcry, to hide them away where no one could see. The thought was unsettling, almost too cruel to be true.
But what if it is? It was frowned upon for someone of a higher class. Before I had time to think any further, Lily had called me over.
"You did a good job," Lily said as she took the shears from my hands. "I'll take you inside for breakfast. We always work before eating."
She brushed past me, putting the rusty shears back in their place inside the shack. Without hesitation, she returned to my side and grasped my wrist, sauntering confidently toward the keep as I stumbled slightly to match her pace.
The kitchen hall was unusually busy—more crowded than it had been the night before. I paused in the threshold, taking it all in. Five children sat around the table, their voices overlapping in a steady hum, while three adults moved about nearby. The adults had an odd quality about them, as if they had aged without truly maturing.
"What's wrong?" Lily whispered, leaning in close. She smelled faintly of rainwater.
"People," I muttered. My chest tightened, and I hesitated until Lily sighed and dragged me forward.
"They won't bite," she groaned, pulling me toward a seat on the right side of the table.
For a moment, everyone turned to stare at me, before returning to eating and talking among themselves.
I glanced at the table, strewn with mismatched plates of food, and slid one closer. Picking up a grape, I popped it into my mouth. It tasted faint, more like water than fruit, and I chewed with little appetite.
Lily brushed her hair back and dove into the assortment of pastries on her plate, despite their cold, stale texture. It didn't seem to bother her in the slightest as her eyes darted keenly toward her next choice. Meanwhile, I coughed awkwardly, carefully reaching for another grape and popping it into my mouth.
"What does Petunia do?" I asked in a small voice, curiosity finally winning over hesitation.
Lily paused mid-bite, swallowed, and turned to me as she sipped from her murky glass of water. "Miss Tunia? She's the keep's caretaker. Makes sure everything is running the way it should—" Her words cut off abruptly, and her expression sharpened as she threw a glare over my shoulder. "Sebastian!" she yelled, and the room fell silent.
Following her outstretched finger, a scrawny boy with short brown hair and a crooked nose stepped into view. His presence immediately struck me, and from across the table, I could catch the faint scent of decay wafting from his rotting teeth.
"What would you say Miss Tunia does?" Lily asked.
Sebastian sighed as the quiet hum of the kitchen resumed. "Miss Tunia? She takes care of the keep," he replied briskly.
"But...isn't that what you said?" I asked curiously.
"Exactly," Lily muttered, leaning back slightly as she tore another piece of pastry apart. "Tunia doesn't care for children who will one day be old sods. She cares about her wannabe castle. All of us know it." She waved a dismissive hand at Sebastian. "Thank you, that's enough now." Sebastian nodded faintly, slinking back into the room as Lily returned her attention to the stale pastries.
"Well..." I mumbled, "That doesn't sound very nice."
"Mm," Lily mumbled through a mouthful of food. "We'll all leave by adulthood..." She paused for a moment before contradicting herself. "That is, unless you're important. Boys like you... they tend to come and go quickly."
I let out a faint noise of acknowledgment, nothing more than a hum. Speaking wasn't something I enjoyed. I reached for another grape, but my eyes lingered on the freshly skewered meat now sitting on the table. For all Lily's talk about this place, it didn't seem overtly cruel. I grabbed a piece. It was still hot, steam rising from its surface, but I bit into it anyway, the tender flesh melting like butter on my tongue.
Lily eyed me curiously. "That's still smoking. Does it not hurt?"
I shrugged, offering no explanation, and she let out a simple 'hm' before returning to her plate, seemingly satisfied.
Moments passed, my thoughts dragging into half-formed ideas, but before anything substantial could take shape, a light tap on my shoulder pulled me back to the present. Glancing behind me, I saw Miss Tunia standing there. She wore a black velvet dress over a white undershirt and hair unusually frizzy.
"Hello, Roderich. Lily," she greeted, nodding to both of us. Lily, seated to my left, smiled faintly, her cheeks still full of food.
"How has he done on his tasks?"
"Fine," Lily responded casually. Fine? Only fine?
"Good." Petunia then glanced at my almost empty plate, a small sigh forming from her lips as she tapped my shoulder, "Walk with me. There's someone for you to meet."
With a nod, I slid off the long bench and found myself nearly speed-walking to keep up with her stride. We passed a door tucked beneath the stairwell, its arched frame built from neatly arranged bricks, before entering a narrow corridor lined with dark brown, richly polished wood paneling.
I remember her walk vividly. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her clothing seemed to drift lightly with her movements as she marched forward—like that of an overconfident soldier.
Miss Petunia was, in a way, an irony in herself. There was a peculiar quality about her, a warmth in her voice that felt genuine at first, yet it carried an undertone that made me question its sincerity. Perhaps her care wasn't ingenuine after all—or perhaps it was. It was hard to tell with her.
We stopped in front of a set of double doors—though "double" seemed unnecessary, as they were more half-doors in their own right. Miss Petunia straightened her posture and coughed lightly to clear her throat.
"The duke is waiting inside for you," she said, and the name made my ears perk, but before I could react, she placed a finger against my lips.
"Do not do anything brash," Tunia warned firmly, "but also, do not stay silent. Speak when spoken to, but only when necessary. Understand?"
I nodded quickly, but her eyes narrowed, and she let out a frustrated groan. "Use your words, Roderich. We do not want someone of importance thinking you're a mute."
"Understood," I mumbled.
"That'll suffice," she said, rapping her knuckles against the door. An elderly man opened it, his hollow cheekbones accentuating the shadows around his eyes. He stepped aside without a word, letting us in.
The room was dimly lit and smaller than I'd anticipated. My eyes scanned the space before settling on a man leaning against the far wall. Unlike the other adults I'd encountered, his posture was straight, almost rigid, and his appearance was immaculate. His hair was neatly arranged, and his clothing was thoughtfully coordinated, each piece fitting together.
The walls of the room were lined with shelves, their spaces filled with books and pots in a seemingly haphazard way. The faint, dry scent of parchment lingered in the air. The man shifted slightly as the door creaked open and came to a stop against a small cork stopper. His irises were a striking gray, and a faint smirk curled at the corners of his mouth.
"Interesting," he said smoothly, his voice younger and slightly higher than I had expected. Perhaps it was the neatly trimmed beard that gave him the sense of someone older. "I thought you'd be beastlier."
"I get that a lot," I replied quietly.
He nodded, and it was then I noticed the glass in his hand, which he placed on a nearby table with a deliberate thud. A thick, white liquid sloshed inside as he shifted his grip. His hand trembled slightly as he brought it closer to his chest, and my eyes caught the motion. He noticed my expression and offered a subtle smile. "I apologize if I appear off-putting. A trip around the Felluvar River will do such a thing."
Behind me, the door clicked shut, marking the departure of Miss Petunia and the elderly gentleman. A sudden unease prickled my skin as I realized I was alone with this man. He seemed to sense it, his voice steady as he continued, "You don't need to be alarmed..."
"Roderich," I blurted, the word escaping before I could think better of it.
"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully. "I thought it was Samuel. Perhaps Phillip had the names mixed. Regardless, I'm sure you know who I am."
I shook my head, and he chuckled softly. "I suppose a guarded boy like you would not. I am Egon of Kingskeep, Duke of Chaluk."
"You're the king's middle cousin?"
"The king's middle cousin, you say? How quaint. But tell me, Roderich—do you think family ties grant me power?"
I hesitated, unsure of the answer he wanted. "I don't know."
"By birthright, perhaps, but that only goes so far in life. It's competence and cunning that make the real difference, now, isn't it?" He clicked his tongue rhetorically. "First, I want to apologize for your mother. Though it was necessary for us to take you from her."
I tensed at the mention of her name—not out of anger or frustration, but from the realization that I had already begun to forget her. Her face, her scent, the sound of her voice. It had only been days, and yet the edges of her memory had started to blur. How could I have forgotten so quickly?
"Widowskeep is a safeguard for you," he continued. "I'll have you report to me once a week. We'll see how you're fitting in, what they're teaching you, and ensure you're progressing as you should."
"Can you tell me why?" I mumbled. He raised an eyebrow, silently urging me to speak up. "I want to know why I'm here," I said louder. "No one's telling me anything."
"A boy with that tongue is not the usual kind to speak to me," Egon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His eyes seemed to search for something as he continued, "You'll learn the full truth in time, but I suppose I can share one thing with you." He leaned forward slightly. "I have a plan for you, Roderich. One you'll come to like, I think. For now, Widowskeep is simply a necessary middle ground." The duke's breathing was quicker than it should have been, and he carried not the scent of alcohol, but something herbal. I felt my shoulders slump as I nodded at his words, unsure how else to respond. A smile crept onto his face.
"Good, and—"
"One more thing..." I interrupted, the words escaping before I could stop them. "Sorry, uhm..." I stammered, but he raised a hand, gesturing for me to continue. Hesitantly, I did. "You said... we'll track your progress. Who is we?"
Egon grinned. "Smart boy. That's good." He tapped his fingers against the table rhythmically before continuing, "I'm a busy man, Roderich. I won't always be here to meet with you, but I have plenty of others who can." The duke nodded toward the door. "You head back now, and I'll talk to you again soon. At the end of every week—and I'll trust you to keep track of this—you will come to this room before nightfall."
He extended a hand, and I reached out to shake it. His grip was firm and warm, but the roughness of his calloused fingers caught me off guard. "Hm. Until then, Roderich." And after that...I left the room. 9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwm6ngjq6ub
