Cassian's POV
The bucket of freezing water hit me like a slap.
I jerked awake, gasping and choking. My half-brother Roderic stood over my straw mattress, empty bucket in hand, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.
"Rise and shine, bastard! Father wants his breakfast, and you're late." Roderic kicked my wet blanket. "Move faster, or I'll tell him you were sleeping in again."
I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. Fighting back would only make things worse. It always did.
"I'm up," I muttered, climbing out of the soaked straw that served as my bed. Water dripped from my hair down my back.
Roderic smirked. He was two years younger than me but acted like a king. "Good. And don't forget—today's my birthday celebration tonight. I want the great hall spotless." He paused at the door. "Oh wait, isn't it your birthday too? Twenty-one, right?" His grin turned cruel. "Too bad nobody cares about bastards."
The door slammed.
I stood there in my wet clothes, shivering in the cold servant's quarters of Thornwell Manor. He was right. It was my twenty-first birthday. The day I became a man by law.
But I was still nothing.
I changed into my only other shirt—which had holes in it—and hurried to the kitchen. Cook glared at me for being late, shoving a tray of food into my hands. "Lord Aldric is in a foul mood. Don't make it worse."
My stomach twisted. Lord Aldric—my father, though he never called me son—was always in a foul mood when it came to me.
I carried the breakfast tray to the dining hall. The morning sun poured through tall windows, making the room glow. My half-sister Celeste sat at the long table, picking at pastries. She looked up when I entered and wrinkled her nose like I smelled bad.
"Ugh, the bastard is here," she announced to no one. "Try not to breathe on the food."
I set plates down silently, keeping my eyes low. This was survival. Keep quiet. Stay invisible. Don't give them reasons to hurt you.
Lord Aldric entered, and the room got colder. He was a tall man with gray hair and eyes like ice chips. He sat at the head of the table without even glancing at me.
I poured his tea with steady hands, even though my heart raced. One spill, one mistake, and I'd pay for it.
"Father," Roderic said through a mouthful of bread, "the bastard was late this morning. I had to wake him."
"Is that so?" Lord Aldric's voice was quiet. That was worse than yelling. "Cassian."
"Yes, my lord?" I kept my head bowed.
"If you cannot perform simple tasks on time, perhaps you'd prefer to sleep in the stables with the other animals."
My face burned. "It won't happen again, my lord."
"See that it doesn't." He dismissed me with a wave.
I turned to leave, but Celeste's voice stopped me. "Wait. Pour me more juice." She held out her cup, but as I reached for it, she pulled it back. The juice spilled all over the table.
"You clumsy fool!" she shrieked. "Look what you did!"
I hadn't even touched it. But Lord Aldric's eyes were on me, cold and accusing.
"Clean it up," he ordered. "And no breakfast for you today. Perhaps hunger will teach you to be more careful."
My stomach was already empty from missing dinner last night. But I grabbed a cloth and cleaned the mess while Celeste smiled sweetly at her father.
When I finally escaped to the hallway, I slumped against the wall. Twenty-one years old today. A man. But treated like garbage.
"Cassian!"
I looked up. Lyria was hurrying down the corridor, her green eyes worried. She was the gardener's daughter—half-elf, which meant most people here treated her almost as badly as they treated me. But she never treated me badly.
She pressed something wrapped in cloth into my hands. "Happy birthday," she whispered.
I unwrapped it. Fresh bread, still warm, with butter and honey.
My throat got tight. "Lyria, you'll get in trouble—"
"I don't care. Everyone deserves something good on their birthday." She smiled, and for a moment, the day didn't seem so dark. "You're going to do great things someday, Cassian. I know it."
I wanted to believe her. I really did. But great things didn't happen to bastards.
"Thank you," I managed to say. "You're the only person who's ever been kind to me."
"That's because you're the only person here worth being kind to." She squeezed my hand. "I have to get back to the gardens, but I'll see you later?"
I nodded. She hurried away, and I ate the bread in hungry bites. It was the best gift I'd ever received.
The rest of the morning was brutal work—scrubbing floors, polishing silver, hauling water. My hands were raw and bleeding by noon. But I kept going. This was my life. Tomorrow would be the same. And the day after.
Unless something changed.
I allowed myself to dream while I worked. Maybe I could run away, join the king's army, become a knight. Prove I was worth something. Knights were heroes. They saved people. They mattered.
But who would take a bastard with no training and no—
Horns blared from the front gates.
Everyone in the manor froze. Those horns meant official business. Royal business.
I dropped my scrub brush and ran to the windows with the other servants. A rider in the king's colors was galloping up the path. Behind him, more soldiers followed.
"What's happening?" someone whispered.
"That's the king's messenger," another servant breathed. "Something big is happening."
Lord Aldric strode out to meet them, with Roderic and Celeste trailing behind. I watched from the window as the messenger dismounted and handed Lord Aldric a scroll sealed with red wax.
My father broke the seal and read. His face went white.
Then he looked up, straight at the manor, and his eyes found mine through the window.
For the first time in my life, I saw fear in Lord Aldric's face.
"All men ages sixteen to forty!" the messenger's voice boomed across the courtyard. "By order of King Aldros, you are conscripted into the royal army! The orc tribes have invaded! We are at war!"
The world tilted.
War. The army. They were taking everyone.
Lord Aldric's eyes were still locked on mine. And in that moment, I understood something terrible.
He was afraid—not of the orcs.
He was afraid that I might actually survive what was coming.
The messenger's next words turned my blood to ice: "All conscripts report to Fort Grimwatch in three days. Deserters will be executed."
I couldn't run. I couldn't hide.
War was coming for me.
And somehow, I knew—my father was planning to make sure I never came back alive.