I stood in the middle of our small yard with my arms crossed, staring at the two Cassiver servants who had shown up at dawn like they owned the place. My hair had grown out too long over the last couple of months. It hung past my shoulders now, messy and tied back with a scrap of leather because I kept forgetting to cut it. Mom said it made me look softer, almost like a girl from a distance. I hated that it was probably why they were here.
One of the servants, a thin man with a pinched face, held out a sealed letter with the Cassiver crest pressed into the wax. "Lord Edran Cassiver has selected you as a personal attendant for his household at the Valdris Academy. You will travel with the caravan departing this morning. Pack light. Everything else will be provided."
I didn't move to take the letter. "I'm not interested. Tell your lord thanks, but I have work here on the farm."
The second servant, bigger and meaner-looking, stepped forward. "This is not a request, boy. High House Cassiver does not ask twice. Your father already received the compensation and the… reminder about next year's taxes. Refuse and things get unpleasant for everyone."
Dad stood on the porch behind me, face tight. Mom was inside, probably crying quietly so I wouldn't hear. They had come to the house an hour ago with coins and threats wrapped in polite words. Dad had tried to argue. The bigger servant had simply mentioned how easy it would be for the tax collectors to find "irregularities" on our land this season. That was all it took.
I looked at the letter, then back at the servants. My stomach felt like lead. This was exactly the kind of plot hook I had spent fifteen years dodging. A rich, powerful noble who collected pretty young people the way other men collected horses. And because my stupid hair made me look delicate from the right angle, I had been added to the list like some bonus prize.
"I'm not going," I said again, quieter this time. "I'm nobody. Background. I fix fences and haul water. That's it."
The thin servant smiled without warmth. "Lord Cassiver finds you… interesting. His son will have use for a quiet, well-featured attendant who knows how to keep his mouth shut. You leave today. Pack or we pack for you."
Dad stepped down from the porch, voice rough. "Eren, just go. It is better than the alternative. They made it clear what happens if we refuse."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell them I would rather burn the farm down myself than get dragged into noble games. But looking at my parents' faces, I knew the fight was already lost. Cassiver did not take no for an answer. Not from people like us.
I went inside, threw a few spare shirts, my old knife, and a small pouch of coins into a sack, and came back out. Mom hugged me tight, her eyes red. "Be careful," she whispered. "Come back when you can."
"I will try," I muttered. It felt like a lie.
The servants escorted me to the edge of the village where the Cassiver caravan waited. Three large wagons, armed guards, and a fancy carriage for the lord himself. I spotted Kael already sitting in the back of one wagon, looking bruised and grim. Two girls from the village were there too, both beautiful in that simple, fresh-faced way. One kept wiping her eyes. The other stared straight ahead like she had shut down completely. Their families stood at a distance, faces pale, clutching the coins they had been given to make this "voluntary."
Lord Edran Cassiver sat on his horse at the front, dressed like he was heading to a banquet instead of a road trip. When he saw me, his eyes lit up with that same cold amusement I had heard about.
"Ah, the Voss boy. Excellent. Longer hair suits you. My son will appreciate the novelty." He waved a hand lazily. "Put him in the second wagon. Keep him clean. I do not want him looking like a common farmhand when we arrive."
One of the guards grabbed my arm and steered me toward the wagon. I climbed in without fighting. What was the point? Running would just make things worse for my family. I sat down across from Kael, dropping my sack between my feet.
Kael looked at me, guilt and something like anger in his eyes. "Eren… I am sorry. I did not know they would force you too."
I shrugged, keeping my voice flat. "Not your fault. Cassiver decided he liked the way I look. Apparently long hair on a guy is enough to get dragged into this shit." I glanced at the two girls. One was maybe sixteen, the other a little older. Both pretty enough that any normal person would have left them alone. "Same for them, I guess."
The older girl looked over, her voice barely above a whisper. "They told my parents they would raise the taxes until we lost the farm if I did not come. Said it was a great honor."
The younger one just hugged her knees and stayed silent.
I leaned back against the side of the wagon as the caravan started moving. The wheels creaked, the guards rode alongside, and Caldmere slowly disappeared behind us. My quiet life, the one I had fought so hard to keep, was gone. Just like that. One lecherous noble with too much power had decided I would make a nice toy for his son, and everyone else had folded.
Kael kept glancing at me like he wanted to say more, but I did not feel like talking. Instead I watched the road and tried to keep my face blank. Inside, the old frustration boiled slow and steady. I had done everything right. Stayed average. Avoided every flag. Kept my head down for fifteen damn years.
And still the plot had reached out and yanked me in by the hair.
The capital loomed somewhere ahead. Aldric and Mira were already there, probably training and making their big moves. Now I was heading the same way, but as forced servant labor for a man who collected pretty young people the way others collected stamps. Lord Cassiver rode at the front, occasionally glancing back at his new acquisitions with that satisfied smile.
I closed my eyes and let the wagon rock me.
This was not how I wanted the story to go. Not even close.
But here I was anyway.
Background character number whatever, now officially dragged into the spotlight whether I liked it or not.
I just hoped I could find a way to fade back into the shadows once we reached the capital.
Somehow.
The road stretched long ahead, and for the first time in years, I felt genuinely trapped.