Morning arrived without ceremony. No sun. Only cold. Miyo sat before her mirror, drawing her brush through her hair in long, practiced strokes. The halls of the Inner Courts were still half-asleep, wrapped in that thin silence that lived between dawn and duty. She liked this hour. It belonged to readers and thinkers—people who preferred pages to voices.
The door slid. "My Lady," a maid said from the doorway. "Breakfast is prepared."
Miyo rose and slipped into her outer robe. As she stepped into the hall, she noticed it immediately. The boy guard was gone. A taller soldier stood in his place, armor polished, posture rigid.
"Where's the boy guard?" Miyo asked.
The guard straightened. "Off duty for now, my Lady. He will return."
She nodded once and moved on, mildly annoyed. Things that disappeared without explanation always bothered her. The dinner hall greeted her with gentle warmth. The long table was already set—simple this morning. Fresh bread, sliced fruits, steamed roots, small bowls of honeyed grains, and warm tea sending thin ribbons of steam into the air. Nothing extravagant. Her father preferred soldiers' meals, even at dawn.
Lady Mehra was already sitting, speaking softly to a hand maiden. Mehra turned when she saw Miyo. She wore the signature beauty of a Taalon lady: long dark wavy brown hair arranged in elaborate braids and lifted into careful updos, framing her youthful face. Her gold-brown eyes were large and expressive, the kind that revealed thoughts even when she tried to hide them. Pregnancy had softened her features, giving her cheeks a gentle fullness, and her elegant dress flowed gracefully over her growing belly.
"Miyo," Mehra said warmly. "You are awake early."
"Sleep abandoned me," Miyo replied. "It does that often."
Mehra smiled, dismissing the hand maiden. "How was your night?"
"Eventful," Miyo said flatly, taking her seat. She reached for tea.
Then armor sounded against stone. Lord Droha entered.
Lean and athletic, his presence filled the room before his voice ever did. His sharp, weathered features carried both age and command. His black hair was swept back into a wolf tail, his beard and mustache neatly groomed. As always, he wore his armor—black, detailed in deep shades of green, ornate with the family crest of the winged dragon. He dressed like a man who expected war to interrupt breakfast.
He leaned down and kissed Miyo on the head. Then sat beside Mehra and took her hand.
"I heard about your visit last night," he said. "I am sorry, little flame. I was with Mehra." His fingers intertwined with hers.
Miyo stirred her tea. "It is fine."
They began to eat. After a few quiet moments, Droha spoke again.
"How is your new guard?" He paused, frowning slightly. "The boy. I seem to have misplaced his name."
Miyo glanced toward the hall entrance.
"So have I," she said. "Which tells you everything."
Droha chuckled faintly. "You do not like him?"
"He stands too close," Miyo replied. "He does not speak. And he watches like a startled deer."
"A disciplined deer," Droha said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Father, you command an entire army. Why choose a boy for my guard?"
"He is the best."
Miyo scoffed quietly. "You have generals, and warriors twice his size, and men who do not look as though they were borrowed from sheep pastures."
Droha smiled into his food. "It is for the better," he said. "He is of your age. You may learn from him."
She stared at him. "What exactly am I meant to learn from a sheep boy?"
Droha's gaze sharpened. "He is a villager."
Miyo opened her mouth, then closed it.
He continued, calm and steady. "You will rule this land one day. Together with your brother."
He placed his hand over Mehra's again. Mehra rested her other palm on her stomach. Miyo looked away.
"Yes," Droha said. "Rule. Not observe from balconies."
Her spoon paused midair.
"You must understand the common folk. Their ways. Their burdens."
Miyo exhaled slowly.
"He can teach you his people's customs," Droha went on. "And there is much you can teach him in return."
Miyo was dissatisfied, unconvinced, and already composing silent arguments for a boy who did not yet know he had become her lesson.
***
In the soldiers' quarters, built of old stone to keep what little warmth it could, morning arrived without light. Lanterns still burned along the walls, their flames trembling in the cold air. The sun had yet to show itself, which made the cold linger.
Ikari sat alone at one of the long wooden tables, dressed in a simple gambeson. Before him rested a shallow bowl of steamed grain and bean stew, with a slice of salted meat laid across its edge. Around him, the soldiers of the capital filled the hall with the low thunder of waking—boots scraping stone, spoons striking bowls, laughter rising and falling in uneven waves.
He ate quietly. He felt the stares. They came in fragments: a glance held too long, a voice lowered when he turned his head. Yesterday in the yard had followed him here. Victory, it seemed, did not end with the final point. Across the room, Orto sat among his circle, chewing loudly, speaking with his hands. Now and again someone at that table would look toward Ikari, then back to Orto. Ikari could not hear their words, but faces told enough.
He lowered his eyes to his meal and nudged the beans aside. He had never liked them. Then benches scraped. Orto rose. So did two of the men beside him. Bowls were abandoned. Conversation thinned. Somewhere, a spoon struck stone and rolled. Ikari set his own bowl down slowly. Before anyone reached him, a voice cut clean through the quarters.
"Alright, men. Finish up. Dawn is upon us."
Han stood near the doorway, broad-shouldered in his gambeson, his presence filling the space without effort.
No shouting. No threats. Just authority. Orto hesitated, jaw tight. Then he turned away. His companions followed. The room exhaled, though no one admitted it.
Han crossed the hall and sat beside Ikari. The bench creaked under his weight.
"Well," Han said, eyeing him sideways, "if it isn't the blood of the White Fang."
Ikari inclined his head. "Han."
"How do you fare in the capital?"
Ikari let out a small breath. "Good, though everything feels large. The halls, the walls… even the silence."
Han gave a short laugh. "Aye. The Capital has a way of reminding you how small you are."
He leaned back, resting his forearms on the table. "You'll grow into it."
Ikari nodded, though he was not convinced.
Han gestured subtly around the hall. "Take a good look. This is family now, these men, they are brothers you'll bleed with. Brothers-in-arm, whether you like it or not."
Ikari followed his motion with his eyes. Faces turned away when they noticed him watching.
"I am not sure they agree," Ikari murmured.
Han smiled, but there was little humor in it. "They won't. Not yet." Patting him on the shoulders. "Hurry now, the Lady often gets up early," He walked away.
Ikari remained seated, glancing once more, while his meal grew cold before him.
***
Miyo sat by the tall window of her chambers, a book resting open in her hands. The morning light had finally begun to creep through the glass, pale and uncertain, casting long lines across the floor. She had already read the same passage twice and remembered none of it.
Beyond her door came muffled voices. One of them was unfamiliar. The other carried the rough, unpolished cadence of the sheep boy. She did not look up at first. Instead, she turned a page she had already finished, then paused. Her father's words returned to her, uninvited: He is of your age.
How often, she wondered, did one meet someone of one's own years inside the inner court? Children here were born into lessons and distance. Companionship was curated. Friendship was negotiated by titles. Still, what business did a noble have with a commoner?
She closed the book and let it slip onto the cushioned bench beside her. Crossing to the window, she gazed down into the gardens, watching servants move between snowy hedges and crystal ponds. The world below seemed very far away.
Lost in thought, she turned back too quickly. Her elbow caught the edge of the carved table. The map of White Haven lurched. Stone pieces skittered across the floor, animals and sigils tumbling together in soft clacks. The small table itself tipped and fell onto its side. Miyo inhaled sharply and knelt. She had just begun gathering the scattered pieces when the door slid open. The boy rushed in.
"Lady Miyo-jan—are you alright?"
"Yes," she said, without looking up. "I am fine."
He hovered for a moment, then noticed the fallen table. He moved to help.
"I can manage," she told him.
He ignored that. With an ease that surprised her, he lifted the small stone table upright and began collecting the pieces. He placed them back on the map as he went, quick and earnest.
Wrong. Every single one. Miyo straightened slowly.
"You've placed them all incorrectly."
He froze, then looked up. "Sorry, my Lady. I do not understand."
Of course you don't, she thought. She stepped closer and gently moved his hand aside.
"You are from the mountains," she said, already rearranging the pieces. "You wouldn't know."
The carvings were small but intricate—animals and ancient symbols, each representing one of the great houses of White Haven and Storms' Reach. Only those raised within noble walls were taught their meanings. She placed them back with practiced care.
"This," she said, indicating the center, "is the known map of men. Here sits our holdfast—White Haven. The seat hold of the Nnome. And at its heart, our capital. The Noble City."
She glanced up. He was watching her closely. Good, she thought. At least he listens.
"North of us lie the tribes of the Dreywoods, beyond the North pass." She lifted a carved bear. "This belongs to House Rennes of Frostwood."
She set it Westward of White Haven.
"The piece shaped like the sun represents House Creygaad. Head house of the Five Kingdoms of Taal. It is placed here, at Storm's Reach. Its capital is White Warren."
"White Warren, of course" he repeated.
She gave him a look. He caught it and lowered his eyes, color rising faintly in his cheeks. She continued, unable to help herself now.
"And this peculiar snake is called the Msicrow. It is the ancestral god of House Corriser, head house of the Crowned Islands."
He nodded once, solemn as a sworn scribe. She was about to explain the last marker when the door slid open again. A handmaiden stepped inside and bowed.
"My Lady," she said softly, "your Lady mother asks for you."
Miyo adjusted. Her lesson, it seemed, was over. She looked once more at the map—now restored—and then at the boy who stood beside it, attentive and uncertain, like someone newly arrived in a foreign language.
She gave a small nod to the maid. "I am coming."
And with that, she turned away, Followed by her guard.