Or so everyone believed. Elara had never questioned the Tithe. She had grown up in the chilly, drafty manor of her father, Lord Brys, a minor baron of the Salt Flats. Every morning, she had risen, left her nightgown on a hook by the door, and walked barefoot down the stone corridor to the breakfast hall, where her father sat fully dressed in his dark gray doublet, wool breeches, and leather boots. He would look up from his porridge, nod once, and say, “Good morning, daughter. You are a blessing to this house.”
Guards stopped her. Two men in full plate armor, visors down. They saw her tunic. They saw her bare legs beneath. One of them laughed. “Lost, little font? Women’s quarters are west.” cmnf fantasy
She hesitated. “Exposed. Small. …Cold.” Or so everyone believed