I ask myself the same question every morning.
Why do I do what I do?
Why do I wake each day to live a life I hate—and accept it so quietly?
Why is it so easy to settle for a warm bed, a few meals, and nothing more?
That was the life I lived for twenty-four years.
I was an orphan in Felburn. Never adopted. Conscripted at fourteen. I fought in a noble's war for four years before the banners finally fell. When it ended, I paid my way into culinary school with coin pried from the dead—men harder than me, and men who hadn't been hard enough.
The orphanage was… decent. Samantha and Elliot ran it on taxpayer coin. Felburn itself was a good city: mages, warriors, templars, fertile farmland, agreeable weather, and a government competent enough to avoid riots. There were worse places to grow up. Much worse.
Elliot treated me well. When he learned I'd spent six months in culinary school, he offered me work. Turns out he'd been paying generously for the food I'd eaten most of my life. I handled breakfast, ate an early lunch, then worked dinner at a respectable diner near one of the larger warrior guilds.
I made good money. I lived comfortably.
And yet, something gnawed at me.
I missed the blade. The smell of blood. The clarity that came when one mistake meant death. That should have disturbed me. Instead, it felt honest.
Sometimes I wondered why my family abandoned me. Sometimes I didn't wonder at all. I owned a mirror, after all. My eyes weren't common—green, with a five-pointed star buried deep in the pupil. Easy enough to hide. Impossible to mistake if you knew what you were looking for.
After dinner one night, close to midnight, I left the diner and followed a rumor one of the cooks had mentioned.
A park.
It was beautiful. Moonlight danced across a still pond. Flowers blanketed the ground, some glowing faintly in the dark. Benches were scattered throughout, most occupied.
Only one wasn't.
Or so I thought.
A woman sat on the right side.
I nearly tripped over myself.
She wore a fitted black dress, gloves, and an emerald necklace that caught the moonlight just right. She was beautiful—unfairly so—but that wasn't what stopped me.
Her eyes were wrong.
Cat-slitted irises. The upper half crimson, the lower violet.
The kingdom of Lataria was ruled by noble houses and an ambassador of the Empress. Every ambassador was her blood. Every one of them bore those eyes.
Which meant the woman beside me did not belong in Felburn.
I swallowed, sat carefully, and said, "Good evening, Ambassador. Felburn isn't a common destination."
She turned, frowning faintly as a magic circle spun within her left eye.
"Good evening, Lockheart," she replied. "I was looking for you. I simply didn't expect you to find me first."
Her gaze drifted across the water.
"It's a lovely park."
My stomach sank.
"Why do you call me that?" I asked. "And why are you looking for me at all?"
She studied me, really studied me, then smiled.
"I call you Lockheart," she said evenly, "because that is who you are."
The words landed softly. Heavily.
"A servant confessed, hoping for a reward. She claimed she saw a guard flee the Lockheart estate with a baby twenty-three years ago. A fisherman later admitted to helping that guard board a riverboat bound for Felburn."
She met my gaze.
"When our people finished asking questions—about green eyes, about star-shaped pupils—my mother sent me. It took time. But she sent me."
My breath tightened.
"You are aware the Lockheart clan was exterminated on false charges under the late Emperor, are you not?" she continued. "My mother never believed them. She hid your existence until her investigation was complete."
I couldn't speak.
"My father was executed a week ago," she added. "The announcement hasn't been made yet."
A pause.
"It will be."
The world felt distant, unreal. I'd always assumed my family was important. But exterminated? That was a bitter thing to swallow. I'd never searched for them. I'd assumed I was a bastard, sent somewhere safe and forgotten.
"How considerate of your mother," I said after a moment. "But what does she want from me? What made my family important enough to justify executing an Emperor?"
I hesitated, then added quietly, "And why are you so calm, if I'm responsible for your father's death?"
She turned away, then back again—and blushed, just slightly.
"The Lockheart clan was the Empire's greatest blacksmith family," she said. "That was the least of it. You were also our finest enchanters, formation masters, assassins, and familiar purveyors. A founding clan. Powerful. Obscenely wealthy."
She inhaled.
"I was betrothed to the Lockhearts. We don't know to whom—but the second princess was promised to your clan."
My head spun.
"My elder sister can no longer inherit. I cannot take the throne without honoring that agreement. You are the only known survivor."
She smiled faintly.
"You can annul the engagement," she said, "and I ascend without obstruction. Or you can come home. Inherit what is yours. Abandon that crude soldier's cultivation you're using now. Try courting me."
She tilted her head.
"If palace life overwhelms you, you may accompany me on ambassadorial duty until you're ready. Some details will change—you would be a Lullaby, not a Lockheart."
A pause.
"Oh. And I'm not angry about my father. He was a cruel man. He won't be missed."
She stood and offered her hand.
"I despise indecision," she said mildly. "In men especially. Personally, I think I'm worth the trouble."
Her smile was sharp, confident.
"The name's Hannah. Hannah Lullaby."
I sat there, feeling as though my world had been turned upside down.
Lataria was a kingdom. The Empire was a continent wearing a crown.
Dreamscape ruled over more than a hundred kingdoms, spanned seas and islands, and reached into other planes spoken of only in taverns and madmen's journals. Entire civilizations competed for territory beyond the world itself.
It was too much for a cook to swallow.
This wasn't just marriage. Or wealth.
It was a throne so vast it defied comprehension.
I looked at Hannah—really looked at her. She was unreal. The kind of woman men ruined themselves for. The kind that made reason feel optional.
"Ambassador… Princess… Hannah…" My voice wavered. "I—"
She leaned close and pressed a finger to my lips.
"Shhh. Call me Hannah," she said softly. "Introduce yourself. And breathe."
I swallowed and nodded.
"My name's Adam," I said. "I'm a cook. I like listening to crickets and chasing stray cats. I miss the blade and don't care much for politics. I've never had a girlfriend. And I love my work. I think I'm quite good at it."
She stared at me for a long moment, then smiled and extended her hand.
"So, Adam—will you accompany me to the capital?"
"No."
She blinked.
"Whatever someone like you wants from me, it won't end well," I said. "I don't care how beautiful you are or how large your throne is. I won't trade a quiet life for lies, knives in the dark, and games played by people who've never had to fear hunger."
Her hand withdrew.
Pain blossomed behind my eyes—clean, precise, professional.
The world folded in on itself.
I woke screaming.
Chains bit into my wrists. My head felt ready to split. I was blindfolded, bound to a bed, and very much not alone.
Something was watching me.
The air was warm and stale. My inner senses felt muted, smothered. The ambient mana—especially earth—was dense and alien. Wherever I was, it was far from Felburn.
Hours passed before footsteps approached.
Metal fingers gripped my head. The blindfold fell away.
The first thing I saw was not the man clad in bluesteel, but the massive tiger sprawled across the room. Black and orange fur. Unblinking eyes.
Gods above—it was larger than the brown bears we'd encountered west of Felburn.
"That's Urn," the knight said calmly. "Hannah's familiar. He's clever. He enjoys toying with his prey. Try not to give him a reason."
He pulled a chair from the desk and sat across from me.
"This is your room. Urn is your bodyguard. To your right is a bathroom. No windows. When it's time to eat, Urn will escort you to the dining hall."
He folded his hands.
"You will consider yourself a prisoner. We know you dabble in magic—your blood is far too thick to pretend otherwise. That creature is a greater mage than you. Do not test it. Any spell you attempt to form, he will shatter."
He let that sit.
"You will dine with the Imperial family. You will not speak unless spoken to. Everywhere you go, Urn will follow. He will report your location, the contents of every conversation you have, every coin you earn, every coin you spend, every friend you make, the name of every book you read."
A pause.
"He will also be your guide."
The knight stood.
"After dinner, you are not required to remain in the palace. You will return no later than one hour past midnight. Do not test that allowance."
He turned toward the door.
"Good luck, Lockheart."
Only after he left did my body obey me.
I screamed. Curled in on myself.
To have your freedom stolen—no matter how gilded the cage—was the cruelest thing you could do to a man.