Click to View Image

  

  The kitchen smelled of spices and simmering broth, the warmth of the stove filling the small space. Katalin sat at the table, legs swinging idly beneath her chair as she finished off the last of her eggs, savoring the rich, buttery flavor. A few bites of spicy sausage remained, and she popped them into her mouth, chewing happily as the heat spread over her tongue. She reached for her glass of milk, drinking deeply until it was empty.

  Across the room, Seraphina moved about, her familiar silhouette haloed by morning light as she wiped the counter before lifting the lid on the pot simmering over the fire. Steam rose in a fragrant cloud - the scent of roasted meat and bone broth curling through the air, thick and comforting. For the last time in this kitchen, Katalin watched her mother stir with slow, deliberate motions, as if committing the ritual to memory.

  The shelves behind her were mostly empty, packed away bit by bit over the last few weeks. Now, without the tins of dried meats and jars of tallow, the kitchen felt... wrong. Home was already somewhere else. Somewhere she had never even been.

  Seraphina let out a slow breath, her gaze lingering on the stone walls, the darkened beams overhead. She saw Katalin watching her and asked, “Will you miss it?”

  Katalin licked the last bit of grease from her fingers, tilting her head in thought.

  Their home wasn’t grand. It had always smelled of steel and coal, the air tinged with the heat of the forge just outside. But it was familiar—every scratch on the floorboards, every crack in the stone holding a memory.

  “Yes,” she admitted after a pause. “But I want to see our new home more.”

  Seraphina smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “That’s a good way to look at it, Little Wolf.”

  Katalin drained the last sip of milk from her glass and stood, carrying her plate, fork, and glass to the washbasin. She scrubbed them quickly, setting them on the drying rack with a practiced efficiency that came from years of habit.

  As she wiped her hands dry on a cloth, she turned back to her mother. “What time should I be back?”

  Seraphina stepped away from the stove and pulled Katalin into a warm hug. “That’s up to Lady Teodora. She might ask you to help her with preparations for the feast. If she does, that’s fine—you can stay with her all day if she wants, and I’ll see you at the feast tonight. Just send word if any plans change.”

  “I promise,” Katalin said.

  Seraphina kissed the top of her head, then pulled back, smoothing the wrinkles in Katalin’s tunic before giving her a light push toward the door. “Don’t forget to check with Lady Mirelle when you get to the keep. See how Lady Teodora is feeling today before you go making any riding plans.”

  “I will,” Katalin said.

  “Good. Now go on.”

  With a quick grin, Katalin opened the door and stepped into the cool morning air.

  The morning sun made her blink as she breathed in the crisp air, the familiar tang of hot metal and coal dust filling her lungs—a scent she had known her entire life .

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  She was surprised to see her father was inside the smithy, standing near the forge, speaking with Joren—the new smith who had taken his place.

  Joren was a broad-shouldered man, his arms thick with muscle, his face square and serious. He wasn’t unkind, but he wasn’t Henrik. And he never let her in the smithy.

  Katalin hesitated, watching the two men talk. She hadn’t seen Henrik at the forge in so long—not really, not as he used to be. She missed the way the smithy had felt when it was his.

  She should go. Aunt Teo would be waiting. But she wanted just a moment more.

  Just to be near him again.

  Decision made, she strode toward the smithy. The heavy wooden doors stood open to the morning air, and she slipped inside, the warmth embracing her instantly.

  The fire wasn’t blazing yet, but the stones held its memory. The air was thick with heat, sweat, and iron.

  But something felt… wrong.

  She glanced around. The anvils were still there, the workbenches lined with tools, the quenching barrel full. But the walls—the walls were empty.

  The rune-covered dwarven shields, axes, and hammers that had always lined them—gone.

  She missed the sight of them. They were some of the first things packed up and taken away.

  For as long as she could remember, she had traced those runes with her fingers, feeling the shallow etchings in the metal, wondering what stories they told. Now the smithy looked… hollow.

  She stood there for a moment, remembering how they had looked with their many colors and designs. Then, as she stared at the empty walls, a memory surfaced—

  The three of them were sitting cross-legged on the floor, the fire flickering between her mother and father. They had been speaking carefully, gently, like they were telling her something important.

  Most people, they had explained, believed Henrik was part dwarf. That was why he had lived so long, why he had strength beyond most men. It was a story that had started years ago, encouraged by Duke Alaric’s father, Edgar. No one had ever seen a half-dwarf before, but who was going to argue with a noble?

  Katalin had frowned. “But are you really part dwarf?” she had asked. “Does that mean Cassius and I are too?”

  Henrik had chuckled, warmth in his eyes. “Who can really say what our grandfathers and great-grandfathers got up to?” He had ruffled her hair, his voice light but steady. “But I can promise you this, Kitty—our bloodline has been strongly touched by the dwarves.”

  Katalin shook off the memory and stepped closer to her father, standing quietly beside him as Joren continued speaking, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

  “I can’t wait to move into your rooms,” Joren was saying, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Finally get out of that rented hovel. And now, with a proper home, I can start thinking about taking a wife.”

  Katalin blinked, tilting her head slightly. She had never heard men talk about marriage much before. But Joren didn’t sound excited. He sounded… practical.

  “I have a few prospects,” Joren continued, scratching his chin. “There’s a merchant’s daughter—smart, knows her numbers. Would be useful in keeping the books. Then there’s my cousin’s widow. Poor thing’s been struggling since he died in that farming accident, and she has a good dowry. Then there’s the butcher’s daughter—sturdy girl, strong. Likely to bear healthy sons.”

  Henrik gave a noncommittal grunt, his hand idly resting on Katalin’s head as she leaned into him. He said nothing, just listened, the way he always did.

  Katalin, on the other hand, felt her nose wrinkle. Joren spoke about these women the same way traders in the market talked about livestock.

  At last, Joren seemed to notice her. He turned his gaze down, offering a small nod. “Ah, hello there, Katalin.” Then he grinned. “Shame you’re not a little older. I could have negotiated with your father for your hand.”

  Katalin froze.

  Joren laughed, as if he had just made the most generous offer in the world. “Would’ve been a fine match for you, eh? But don’t worry—you’ve got a good father. I’m sure you’ll catch an excellent husband someday.”

  Katalin’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “How lucky for me,” she said, her tone just a little too sweet.

  Joren, oblivious, nodded. “That’s the spirit.”

  She turned back to Henrik, her expression brightening as if the entire conversation had already left her mind. “Papa, I’m heading up to the Keep to see Aunt Teo.”

  Henrik pulled her into a quick hug. “Stay out of trouble, Kitten.”

  “No promises,” she murmured into his tunic before slipping away.

  Joren was still talking as she stepped out of the smithy, rolling her eyes as she walked toward Stonehaven Hall.

  I can still beat out a horse will be posted Tuesday, March 25