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The house on the hill appears quite normal when you’re standing at the front gate. With its spacious porch, arched windows, and tower extending into the air, anyone would believe a wealthy merchant lives here.

The answer is that there once was.

Clement Clandestine was one of the wealthiest merchants in the northern realm of Sangaris, with over a dozen ships that transported his goods far and wide. But his greatest wealth was his wife and daughter, Lovelle. He had this house built for them, with a big garden they could tend to as a family.

But after the untimely death of his wife, Clement fell into mourning and lost half of his business. Burdened with grief and debt, he risked losing the house he had built for his family.

So, to save what’s left and to ensure a future for Lovelle, Clement married the rich and recently widowed Lady Octavia, who already had two daughters with her late husband.

With his house and daughter secured, he set sail on his last ship to see what was left of his good name in the southern realm, but never returned.

Clement Clandestine’s ship was caught in a storm and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

Her father’s death came as a shock to Lovelle, who was now left at the mercy of her stepmother and stepsisters. Without the funds to pay the staff, Lady Octavia demoted her to a slave, holding her responsible for the upkeep of the house.

For years, Lovelle, dubbed Elle by her stepsisters, worked as a slave, cleaning the house, cooking for her stepmother and stepsisters, washing their clothes, and tending to the garden her father left for her. She had very few luxuries, being only allowed to eat what was left over from mealtimes, to bathe in water with no soaps and oils, and only to have two plain dresses in her closet.

The constant labor and malnutrition made her frail, with colorless skin and sunken cheeks, and in the end, Elle looked the epitome of a maid. Nothing more, nothing less.

So, yes, the house on the hill appears quite normal when you’re standing at the front gate. With its spacious porch, arched windows, and tower extending into the air, anyone would believe a wealthy merchant lives here.

The answer is that there once was.

And now, only the shell of his daughter remains in the halls, on her knees, scrubbing the floors day in and day out.

It has been a bright, sunny day, perfect for visiting the town square and shopping for new dresses. Lady Octavia and her daughters, Igraine and Lucinda, were in their element as the seamstresses brought them one gown after the other to try on. The colors ranged from rich reds to royal blues, all dusted with gold lace and gemstone fragments.

Next, they enjoyed a pleasant brunch and tea at the fountain, where classy servants served them with silver plates and a local orchestra played their instruments on the stage in the middle of the square.

Igraine kept taking her new jewelry out of its packaging, trying them on one by one for everyone who walks by to see. Lucinda was occupied ogling the young noblemen escorting their mothers through the market stalls, constantly pulling the neckline of her dress down to reveal more cleavage when one looked her way.

Lady Octavia was also looking at the young men, but with different intentions than her youngest daughter. Soon, Igraine will turn twenty and Lucinda nineteen, and they should start thinking about courtship and marriage. And nothing less than the best for her daughters. So, Lady Octavia scouts the talent in the square, judging the men’s wealth by their and their mothers’ attire and which shops they enter.

It is truly a talent to be able to recognize wealth, in her opinion. She knew the moment she saw Clement that he was on the brink of losing everything. He used to be a successful merchant, so he had the skills of a businessman. He had a house, and a fine one of those, with a big garden and large windows. She, on the other hand, just lost her husband and their house, which was to be inherited by her brother-in-law, who evicted them the moment the will was read.

But why use the money she inherited to buy a new house if she could just marry a man with one of his own?

Clement was a blessing at that time. A middle-aged, recently widowed man with a magnificent house that he’s on the brink of losing. So, she inserted herself into his life, seduced him, and they married within a year. She paid off all his debt with the promise that he would pay her back once he had his business running again.

And that’s when the tragic news came: he died at sea.

Now, with only half of her inheritance left—less than it was because of their avid shopping sprees—Lady Octavia is scouting the square for a rich young man for her eldest daughter, one that will accept their house as a dowry and secure their living in it.

Hopefully, there is such a young man who doesn’t care for his future wife’s appearance as much.

Although dressed in the finest silks and fabrics, Igraine and Lucinda won’t be winning any beauty contests soon. They are not hideously deformed with crooked noses or nasty moles, to be bland, but they don’t possess any eye-catching features as other women their age do. Their lips are rather thin, their shoulders too broad to be feminine, their voices husky and deep, and their brows arched too sharply. They lacked the innocent fairness men usually fall victim to.

Fortunately, all men are looking for is someone to produce them an heir, and Lady Octavia is certain her daughters will be able to do that just fine.

There is a change of atmosphere when the orchestra’s music fades and a group of people gathered around the stage, murmuring under their breaths.

“What is going on up there?” Igraine asks, impatiently craning her neck to see over the crowd.

“Stay here,” orders Lady Octavia, who elegantly makes her way through the crowd, scoffing as some peasants bump shoulders with her. When she finally reaches the front, she finds four guards on the stage, and with them, the royal messenger.

The short man unrolls a scroll, clears his voice, and says loudly for everyone to hear, “Hear ye, hear ye! All Ladies and Lords of the realm of Sangaris, this royal announcement is to inform you of the upcoming Centurial Ball that will be held this coming Friday at the castle. Each family of noble descent is to offer one daughter between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two to represent their family name during this event. Refusing to do so will result in persecution. All ladies attending are expected to arrive on time, wearing the proper dress code as decreed by the First King. The King thanks you for your full cooperation in this matter.”

The messenger leaves the stage with the guards, and the orchestra begins to play once again.

Lady Octavia’s face had gone ashen when the announcement sank in. She is one of the fortunate generations of women who missed the previous Centurial Ball, but she never fathomed it happening in the prime of her daughters’ youth. They are both the correct age, meaning she must send one of them to the ball.

“Is it true?” Lucinda asks frantically, also having heard the announcement all the way from the fountain, “Is the Centurial Ball this Friday?”

“Yes,” says Lady Octavia, thinking.

“Mother,” Igraine cuts in, “you’re not thinking of sending us to the ball, are you? The women chosen in the past never came back. And those who did were never the same.”

“What if one of us is chosen?” Lucina is close to tears. “I don’t want children yet, especially not vampire ones.”

“Both of you, be quiet!” Lady Octavia hisses and pinches the bridge of her long nose. “I’m trying to think!”

Both daughters fall quiet and await their mother to speak in anxious anticipation.

Lady Octavia’s head is in a frenzy of schemes and plans to worm her way out of this predicament. In theory, the king won’t choose a woman by her appearance but rather by her capability to produce him a strong, healthy heir. He will be looking at the shape of her hips, her muscle capacity, her health—everything that will ensure her falling pregnant soon. So, she must give him the opposite.

But looking at her daughters, she frowns. They are well fed, with meat on their bones and generous hips. Their skins are rich and glow with youthful radiance, and they are of impeccable health. Those attributes increase their chances of being chosen, so her plan will fail before she puts it to the test.

And that’s when she is struck with another idea—better than anything she’s ever thought of before.

"Quick," she says as she downs the rest of her tea and gathers her shawl and packages, “we need to go see the seamstress.”

“But we were just there,” whines Igraine.

“It’s not for you this time.”

She blinks in shock. “Are you planning on sending Lucinda to the ball?” The latter uttered a squeak of worry.

“For heaven’s sake, will you shut up? Neither of you are going!” Lady Octavia snaps, both daughters closing their mouths in a beat. “We will still need a red dress as I still have to send a daughter to the ball. Only it seems I forgot the one I have at home.”

Lucinda gasps. “Mother, you don’t mean...”

“Yes,” she grins, “I think it is time for Elle to prove her worth.”

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