"By order of His Majesty Howard Regas III, let it be known throughout the lands: a bounty of 200,000 shallots is hereby placed upon the recovery or confirmed whereabouts of each of His Royal Heirs, henceforth and until further notice. 

On the eve of the last summer solstice, Her Majesty Julias Regas was set upon and slain whilst returning to the kingdom. Accompanying her were the First Princess, the Second Princess, the Third Princess, and the Second Prince. Their vessel was assailed during passage through the Fifth Sea. No remains of the heirs were recovered. It is believed they were taken by hostile forces from the Northern Shores.

Until their safe return or confirmed fate, the realm shall remain under the governance of Regas Relares, by sovereign command of His Majesty."

Regas Soulus Unus Previ

Scarlett quickened her pace, striding down the dusty road faster than necessary. The sun bore down on the packed earth, baking it into a dusty path, a perfect reason she shouldn’t have been rushing. Dust billowed in her wake, clinging to her black shoes in thick brown clouds. But that morning, she couldn’t be bothered with a little extra dirt. All that mattered was putting distance between herself and the Dominiques.

“Dear! Oh, please slow down!” Mrs. Dominique picked up her dress and began to catch up to her.

“Ingrid! Don’t try to change the subject!” Mr. Dominique held up his cane and ran after his wife.

In a perfect world—one without consequences—she could’ve just run off and left her problems behind. But unfortunately for her, escaping one uncomfortable conversation was not worth the risk. Her problems weren't that terrible either, just bothersome. She wouldn't run off just to avoid an uncomfortable conversation, but it was a nice daydream to have.

Her parents’ constant bickering and pestering had worn her thin. Lately, she was afraid she might snap at them. And that would only make things worse.

The Dominiques may have raised her, but they weren’t quite family. Despite how much she wished they could be sometimes. As much as they got under her skin, she still respected what they’d done for her. 

Most of the time.

 Still, there were moments—some more recent than she liked to admit—when she wished the hands of fate had dropped her off somewhere normal instead of whatever snobbish organization had handed her over like a decorative trinket. Disgusting places they were, that shilled out children like they were glass dolls to the wealthy who wanted another child to build their standing.

When you came with a family crest, it might as well have been a target painted on your back.

She had only been seventeen for a month, and already her parents were scrambling to find her suitors. They hadn’t even waited a full moon.

She had been excited for her birthday; seventeen was big for high society. The age when a young woman was finally welcomed as a true member, no longer dismissed as a child.

She had waited eagerly for her introductory ball. For the first time in a while, she was the apple of her parents eye. Months of planning, hours of getting ready, all leading up to her moment.

It took her mother five minutes to ruin it—first introducing her to a friend’s son, then another’s nephew, then yet another’s grandson. An hour in, her father joined the parade, ushering her toward his colleagues, each one more than happy to offer her a position on their staff. The Dominiques were hardly subtle in their demands: either start a courtship or get a job. Both were harder to do than they seemed.

Young women of wealth weren’t expected to take on labor-intensive work. For all intents and purposes, they were meant to look pretty. Certain professions were deemed acceptable: maid, governess, teacher, nurse—roles that demanded education, grace, and empathy. All things Scarlett either loathed the idea of being or knew her parents would never agree on.

“I’m not changing the subject, dear,” Mrs. Dominique said as she managed to catch up with Scarlett. “My word, when did she get so fast?” She huffed under her breath and patted her dress flat.

“Exactly as I’ve been saying, dear,” Mr. Dominique said, readjusting his hat to fit neatly on his head. “She’s fast, able, strong. All the great qualities one looks for in a maid. Mr. Abbott has been saying how graceful she looks when he walks by the estate and sees her gardening; she would be a wonderful asset to someone's staff.”

Scarlett wasn't sure if he had meant for her to hear him talk as though she wasn't right there. She had been hoping they would leave that sort of talk back at the house. Many young girls from affluent families worked as maids, particularly in a small town like theirs, yet she found it demeaning.

Not the work itself. There was nothing wrong with being a maid.

Working in one of the royal houses—or, if one was truly fortunate, the castle—was considered the height of honor and prestige. A proper post for a young woman of status. But the chances of her ever going there were slim to none. But serving as a personal maid in a modest household, where the staff was small and privacy even smaller? That left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Too often, the implications behind men hiring young girls for such positions weren’t about service at all. Not that she didn't trust her father's friends, but… she would rather do something more meaningful.

“It would be better if she went and worked off in town, Jacob,” Mrs. Dominique replied, ignoring Scarlett’s discomfort. “Scarlett, darling, wouldn't it be lovely if you went to work for someone like Mr. Leonard?”

She wanted to speak up, but she held her tongue. The Dominiques had purchased her as a child. They had never been able to have children of their own. As insufferable as they could be, they had given her a comfortable life: a home, the weight of a family name, and, in their own way, a sense of belonging.

She hadn’t come alone. She was bought alongside an older boy—Harmon, two years her senior.

The Dominiques had only wanted a young girl. Just her. But, as the story went, she had refused to leave his side when the company brought them in for viewing. And he had refused to let her go. Her memories before the Dominiques were blurry, but she knew one thing: she wouldn't leave Harmon's side. The oldest memory she could reach was one of his face.

She loved her brother. He had always been her anchor, her constant.

But now he was gone, off securing honor and prestige as a member of the Royal Navy. That left her—alone—to shoulder the expectations and delicate social affairs they had once shared.

He had brought pride to the family the moment he enlisted. That left her to figure out what she was supposed to bring. She didn’t want to disappoint her parents—but the sudden, desperate rush to be rid of her felt less like concern and more like suffocation.

“Well, if we can’t decide on anything, I say we continue looking at suitors.” Mr. Dominique thumped his cane against the ground and made the others stop. He seemed to disregard her obvious silence and press on the matter anyway.

Her cheeks flushed at the mention. Of course she wanted to marry—eventually. She and her friends had spent entire dances whispering and giggling about which young men they hoped would court them.

She wasn't opposed to marriage, but the idea of her parents scrutinizing potential suitors for her, as if she couldn't make the choice herself, was downright embarrassing.

“Ears burning, dear?” Mrs. Dominique asked, reaching over to pinch her cheek.

“No, ma’am… well, yes, ma’am.” Scarlett rubbed at the spot, the smile she had been forcing faltering.

Truthfully, the idea of courtship felt more suffocating than any job they might assign her.

Few people her age married for love. Matches were made for status, wealth, or influence—and romance was something you hoped might grow later, if you were lucky. The most you could pray for was to tolerate each other.

She used to think courtships were romantic, even thrilling. But after seeing too many firsthand, they struck her as long, exhausting, and far too political for her liking.

“Oh, marriage is perfectly normal, dear.” Her mother waved a dismissive hand, patting her cheek.

“She’s right. Why, Ingrid and I were absolutely head over heels for each other when we were betrothed.” Mr. Dominique took his wife’s hand, bringing it to his lips with a fond smile.

Scarlett resisted the urge to gag.

It was true, the Dominiques were a sweet couple, and she always felt bad that they could never have children of their own. She was the closest thing they'd ever get to a real daughter. She and Harmon were the perfect bow to tie off their perfect marriage.

She had to hold back from reminding them that they had been promised to each other since birth. It wasn't like they had a choice in their marriage. They just happened to be perfect for each other. No matter how perfect, the Dominiques' love story was more of a predestined arrangement than a romantic tale.

“Scarlett? Is something the matter, my dear?” Mrs. Dominique placed a hand on her shoulder.

Scarlett tensed, her shoulders stiffening as she gently shrugged the hand away. “Well, to be honest, ma'am... do you not want me here anymore? It feels as though I’ve barely turned seventeen, and already you’re making plans for my departure.”

There was something bittersweet about the way they made her feel wanted. According to them, she had been one of five girls and three boys offered to them to choose from. The moment they saw her, they claimed to have known she was their daughter. It was a nice thought. Sometimes she let herself believe in childish things like fate—that maybe she was always meant to be with them. But suddenly, it seemed as though they couldn’t wait to usher her out of the estate.

“What? No, no, no, dear! You’re simply darling, Scarlett. You’ve been nothing but a joy in our lives. But don’t you want to grow up? Get married? And besides, no one’s saying you have to leave the estate. Courtship takes time, and I’m sure you’ll find a job close to home.”

What did marriage have to do with growing up?

“I… ma’am, this just all feels so sudden.”

A month ago, it felt as though her mother never wanted her to grow up, wanting her to stay her little girl forever.

“Sudden?” Mr. Dominique interrupted. “But ever since you were small, all you’ve talked about is getting married.” He smiled wistfully, as if he was recalling some innocent childhood memory. It almost made her feel guilty for being upset.

She frowned. Of course, children dreamt of marriage—what else was there to aspire to?

“Yes, sir, but I was naive then.” She forced a laugh, hoping he’d understand.

“Oh, so now you’re so much more mature?” He sounded disgruntled, his tone shifting.

“No, sir.” She lowered her voice. He had to make up his mind. Was she mature enough to get married but not mature enough to know her own feelings? “It’s just… Harmon stayed a full year at the estate after he came of age. He didn’t enlist until he was eighteen. You didn’t pressure him to become a… a footman or find a wife.”

Mr. Dominique sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, that's so. I just—I know it’s an uncomfortable truth, but as a young lady, there are certain… standards.”

"Well, what if I go join the Navy, huh? Maybe I’ll find a recruiter as soon as we get to town. Maybe I’ll become even better than Harmon and become his superior.” She knew she was pushing back harder than she should. She was already skating on a thin line with him.

Instead of anger, he looked tired. “If you're willing to be that petty just to prove some point, be my guest.”

“Jacob!” Mrs. Dominique looked appalled. “He’s joking, Scarlett; don't even think of doing such a thing.” She swatted at him with her glove and put a hand on Scarlett’s shoulder.

“I just want you to take that first step, Scarlett. Start growing up.” Her father’s voice was sincere, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She wasn’t sure if his words were meant to cut her, but they did.

She met his gaze, ensuring he was actually listening, not retreating into his usual silence after an argument. “I have grown up, sir.”

His gaze shifted toward the town, a ways closer than when the conversation had started. His face remained unreadable, a mask of stone. “I suppose you have,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “But there’s still a long way to go.” He placed his hand gently on her cheek, his smile softer but still distant. “In so many ways, you’re still my little girl.”

She let the warmth of his touch melt some of the tension, but she couldn’t entirely let go. She reached up, resting her hand over his. “And I always will be. But if I’m grown enough to start courting, maybe that means I’m old enough to have a say in what happens and when?” She smiled, hope flickering in her eyes, silently praying that the pleading look she’d perfected as a child still held any weight at seventeen.

He chuckled softly, but it sounded tired, more weary than amused. He patted her cheek. “We’ll talk more when we get home, alright, my dear?”

She squeezed her father's hand and nodded. It wasn't quite the win she had been expecting, but she hoped that meant he wouldn't bring it up again while in town.

“Thank you, sir.”