I had seen Ayer from the windows of the castle before.
From above, it looked orderly. Stone walls. Barracks were laid out with purpose. Roads that curved not for beauty, but because the land demanded it. Everything in Ayer seemed to exist for a reason.
Seeing it from the ground was different.
"Don't lag behind, young lord," Roosevelt said, not turning back as he walked. "I won't slow my stride just because your legs are short."
"I'm not lagging," I muttered, even though I was.
My steps were small, and the cobblestone streets were uneven. Every few stones felt taller than my ankle. Still, I pushed forward, refusing to ask to be carried. Roosevelt noticed, of course. He always did.
A corner of his mouth lifted.
This was my first time leaving the castle without my parents.
Not for lessons. Not for ceremony. Just… out.
Roosevelt had come early that morning, armor replaced by a simple coat, sword wrapped and slung over his back rather than worn openly. He'd bowed to my parents, asked permission in that blunt, respectful way of his, and then looked down at me.
"You need to see what you're training for," he'd said.
So here I was.
The air outside the inner grounds smelled different. Less polished. There was iron in it, smoke, and bread baking somewhere nearby. The soundscape was layered with footsteps, distant shouts, and metal clashing from a training yard farther down the road.
People noticed us.
Not me, at first.
They noticed Roosevelt.
Men straightened. Soldiers nodded. Civilians stepped aside without fear, without haste. There was no tension in their movements, only trust. That alone told me more about Ayer than any book ever could.
Then some of them noticed me.
A child with white hair streaked faintly with red, walking beside the vice commander of the duchy's army.
Whispers followed.
Roosevelt ignored them all.
We stopped in front of an inn that looked older than the surrounding buildings. Its wooden sign creaked softly in the wind, bearing the image of a tankard crossed with a wheat stalk.
"The Northrest," Roosevelt said. "Best stew in Ayer. Worst ale. You won't be drinking either."
"I know," I said.
He snorted. "Good. Hate explaining things twice."
Inside, the inn was warm. Not just from the hearth in the center, but from the way people occupied the spacevoices overlapping, laughter unrestrained, the clatter of plates and mugs. It wasn't loud in a chaotic way. It felt… lived in.
A woman behind the counter looked up.
"Roosevelt," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're late."
"I'm never late," he replied. "You just expect me too early."
Her eyes shifted to me.
They widened.
Then softened.
"Oh," she said. "So this is him."
I stiffened before I could stop myself.
Roosevelt placed a hand on my shoulder, not heavy, just present. "This is Richard. Young lord of Ayer."
The woman walked around the counter and knelt so we were eye level.
"I'm Mara," she said. "I own this place. That grumpy man you see sometimes wearing official robes? That's my husband."
She smiled as if daring the world to argue with her warmth.
Before I could respond, a boy about my height peeked from behind a table leg. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed. He stared openly, curiosity written across his face.
"Krystoff," Mara called. "Stop hiding and say hello."
He stepped forward, hesitant but bold enough not to retreat.
"Hi," he said. "You're the duke's kid?"
I opened my mouth.
Roosevelt answered first. "He's Richard."
Krystoff nodded, as if that settled everything.
A second figure emerged, a girl, slightly taller than Krystoff, her hair tied back tightly, eyes observant. She didn't stare. She assessed.
"I'm Valkyrie," she said. "You walk weird."
I blinked.
Roosevelt laughed.
"She's not wrong," he said. "You'll fix that."
Mara sighed. "Children."
She gestured toward a table near the hearth. "Sit. Food's coming."
We sat.
Krystoff slid into the seat across from me immediately, elbows on the table. Valkyrie took the seat beside him, posture straight.
"So," Krystoff said, leaning closer. "Can you fight?"
"No," I answered honestly.
Valkyrie tilted her head. "Then why does he train you?"
Roosevelt didn't answer. He was watching me.
"I want to," I said after a moment.
That satisfied them more than any boast would have.
The stew arrived thick, rich, filled with root vegetables and chunks of meat that fell apart at the touch of a spoon. I'd eaten better food at the castle. More refined. More expensive.
This tasted better.
As we ate, conversation flowed easily between the other two. They talked about chores, a dog that lived behind the inn, and soldiers who visited often and taught them dice games that their mother pretended not to see.
I listened.
Not because I didn't know how to speak, but because no one expected anything from me here.
No judgment. No weighing.
Just a boy at a table.
At some point, Krystoff asked, "Do you live in the castle?"
"Yes."
"Is it boring?"
I thought about it.
"No," I said. "But it's quiet."
Valkyrie nodded as if she understood exactly what that meant.
When we left the inn, the sun had shifted. The streets were busier now. Workers returning from labor, soldiers changing shifts.
Roosevelt walked more slowly this time.
"Remember this place," he said. "People like them. This is Ayer."
I looked back at the inn. At Mara waving from the door. At Krystoff, pretending not to wave. At Valkyrie, watching silently.
"I will," I said.
As we walked back toward the castle, my legs burned. My body complained of dull, persistent aches. But my chest felt… lighter.
For the first time since this life began, I understood something without thinking it through.
This wasn't a stage.
This wasn't a role.
This was a place that existed whether I stood in it or not.
And one day, whether I wanted to or not, it would expect something from me.
Not yet.
But someday.
I clenched my small hand as I walked.
I didn't know what that future would look like.
Only that I wanted to be strong enough to face it.